I didn’t make this soil

But I helped

So I’m gonna use it

To bury these cloves

And hope that the pungency of garlic

Is sharp enough to take the edge off

The wide dull ache

That sometimes comes

With living day by day

Sharp as the bully blue jays now

Taunting and jabbing the fading light

Rallying the burnt out leaves

To wake back up

But the owl shrieks for dark

And hounds call the night on in.