Agapanthus

by Laura Morefield

There are naked lily stems, thrusting up

Alongside their bloom-heavy sisters

As if they hadn’t noticed the absence of their heads.

 

I trim the empty

Stems below the leaf line with

Soft pangs of regret even as I

Enjoy the preview of later laden branches—anticipate

The blue.

 

So easy to shrug off the lost ones

When the harvest looks lavish.

I am god of my garden.