The marigolds

When I retire I shall plant marigolds, on my knees to the lenient ground, trading my own mottling for colors poured on the soil in a rush of arrival, finally owning what I have always loved in other people's gardens. I see myself tossing the grandiose seeds everywhere, then watching the soft yellow monuments rise on their stems, tributes to our proven trust that I would know how to breed them alive

with just the yearning

in my hands and the kneeling and planting.