Revisionist Poetry – “The Garden’s Leftovers” – Beautiful Detritus, v.3 (a touch more wabi-sabi)

When thaw begins, the garden exhales—
thin ice lifting from the hollow of the beds.
Beneath: torn burlap, rust-kissed wire, one pale glove
gone to the soft apprenticeship of soil.

These are the beautiful terms of loss:
string looped like an old promise, leaf veins like maps.
Frost has taught everything how to fracture well.
Time stitches rag to root; the ruined becomes usable.

I keep my hands empty and let the scraps teach me:
each rag an instruction in imperfect form.
Here, the past is not erased but folded into use—
a humble liturgy of small, stained things.