AAcross the lightness
of winter
rabbit tracks and
remnants of foliage
sketching the air
Joe Pye Weed
suddenly skimpy,
thin as a starving starlet
its lacy lavender
a memory to savor.
Remember when
the roses flamed
a Monet landscape?
For now, I’ll skim
garden catalogs
and dream
of possibilities.
Hey! Come July
the garden will astound.