Late Garden

Now the bare earth, the sparse and yellowed leaves
Dwindle away in this first wind of fall
Wither as never in summer, when they all
Lay parched and panting palely in the heat
Of sun-bleached August.

Nasturtiums now shrink prostrate, here and there
Flares up one last defiant bloom of orange
Black hanging rot creeps upward without pause
Beneath the burning balls of dahlias.

 Hyssop to purge the stiff and chilling earth,
Great basil spreading,boldly green and staunch,
Warm dusty sage that savors of the hearth-
A candelabra hedge of lavender
Stoops gray and hunched.

Kneeling to pull the brittle tubes of allium,
Nigella, with its brown and lacy globes,
A fragrant spray of pink attar of roses
Brushes my cheek; I pause to breathe the fresh
And minty breath of purple agastache.