All along the back fence
Tucked between the incinerator
And the clothesline, hidden from view
Meandered the prodigal sweet peas.
Lassoed with chicken wire
Climbing up and over the fence.
Reaching through the smog filter
To the sunshine.
The whole fence was a wash of color
A secret wall of delight.
I wandered down the row,
Woozy with their perfume
Wishing I didn’t have to exhale
Between inhales—just take
All the swoony sweetness inside
And keep it there.
—from Rattle #7, Summer 1997