The Man in Your Garden

They say he was born an old man
without wisdom and with a fierce
ache in his heart for youth.

He pulls up the weeds and waters
the dirt till it turns black and wormy.
He sleeps in the moonlight.

But he’s locked you out of your yard;
he’s eaten the roots of the new sprouts,
and planted roses on your rugs.

Your clothes are snagged in the fast-
growing trees. They’re turning gray,
and brittle in the high sunlight.

One day you go back to turn him out.
You stand in the wind on the porch
and knock at your own door.