Cuttings

The afterthought of chimes
filters in from next door.
I am under the echo, not
listening so much as noticing
it from time to time as
I look over the results
of my landscaping and
weeding from a white
wicker chair.

An errant vine has sprouted
two blue flowers
where it reaches
the base of the lemon tree.
They are beautiful;
I am suspicious.
Are they a diversion,
an entreaty to keep me
from cutting back the vine?
I'll keep the flowers,
put them in a saucer
by your bed.

   
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