Then I went into the garden
and forgot all about it. Some spider
mum, some slug half-buried
in a strawberry. I have this thing, my mother
says, with memory. The thing rings or is left
on high. The thing dissolves
as if it had never been seen
at all, makes of itself a question.
answered and answered. objects behave
like the tree: every morning more
candy-colored pie cherries. Because Rosi, don't you love
this Eden - its beetles, its blooms, all waiting
to be named.