Water

With gentle clicks, the sprinkler
rakes water through the sky,
blue for awhile longer.
My reward for shoveling
three cubic yards of compost
in eighty degrees:
to pull off my Giants cap
and his leather work gloves,
let my grimy hair and fingers
breathe free,
and sit
watching water
clear the air,
darken the dirt.

The cats—my guardians—find me.
First my tabby, then his Siamese
sit with me.
Our first garden without him.

Matter over mind.
Muscle over grief.
We've done good work today.

Published in Slant