The Garden

O lights an old Viking-style table

on fire with a propane flame-thrower.

Baby slugs plunk on my hand

from the trees above

as we watch the fire take.

D refills the indoor/outdoor

bird seed. A hawk plucks a burning twig

from the fire and drops it in the yard.

J stomps it out as she comes back

from the house, holding a bowl

of fresh-picked sugar snap peas.

K is editing a black-and-white

photograph, which she named,

Genesee Valley Fog.

I see her, the glacier rock D dug out,

the old archery set. Feel black walnuts,

like barnacles, beneath my feet.