and the moon once it stopped was sleeping
in the cold blue light and the moon while the wind snapped
vinyl siding apart slipped around corners whipped the neighbors'
carefully patterned bunchgrass our snow-filled vegetable boxes
the house unjoining the moon our yard strips covered with
hollow shells of hard remnants ice and my son's breath
contiguous static a shard of green light on the monitor
wavers with coughs the Baptist church in Catawba
the only place lit up down the mountain past midnight, someone
waving their hands at something so quiet you can hear
the wind tear at the houses you can hear the neighbor
coming home though he's .18 acres away it's too late
for that feeling (possibility) the night always held
the wind is at it again cracking
paint on the walls one day it will unroot us
one day the wind will tally our losses
but not yet the moon not yet
after Anthony Haughey’s “Settlement”
Garden of rock.
Garden of brick and heather.
Garden of cranes with their hands raised
as if they know the yellow answer:
to gather together—safety in numbers.
Garden of drywall frames, holes for windows
punched out like teeth. Garden of bar fights.
Garden of rubble and gaps,
spectral for-sale signs knocked
from wooden posts, bleached down
to numbers ending in gardens of overgrown lots.
We are falling into ruin, garden
of scaffolding and shale and gravel—
give us back our peace: a half-built garden
of theft, treasures hidden in darkness,
newspapers crumpled on subfloors telling us
to hold fast to that which is good.
Garden of rebar and saplings with trunks
encased in corrugated piping
because many animals can girdle
a tree’s bark quickly: deer, stray cats, rabbits.
Garden of Tyvek wrap loosed
and flapping like a ship’s sail
in the gales, in the sheeting storms.
Hanging laundry left out in the garden
past darkness, fruit from the tree
of human-ness: socks, shirts, underpants.
Garden of long exposures, half-light, traces
that empty themselves in tire treads running
like ladders through red clay mud:
the dirt from which we are formed
and crushed and formed again.