Their scent rises like smoke,
a sweet trust of their
former cingent glow.
Baby and I trumped through winter mud.
I tugged the marigold tree out by her roots
swung the bramble like a reliquery of incense
threshing the sweet heads.
Seeds filled the air with yellow confetti
Seeds stuck to my red wool coat, the color of marigolds
until my buttons sprouted heads like red suns.
Seeds in our hair and on our faces,
over the whole garden.
Seeds awash with flame,
seeds survived by fire,
seeds of humble power,
seeds for every lost hour.