Sonnet: A Still Life
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Out back in the garden, knee-deep in kale,
she steps, ponders, and kneels; there's a blue tongue
lizard that stops and starts along the swale;
a kookaburra laughs, mad and high strung;
light rain plops, like paunchy Buddha bellies;
bees waggle under the Jacaranda;
motorbike frogs rev like backyard bullies;
she smiles and you think Tempest, Miranda.
The sun explodes through the spring miasma
bringing new heat, opening up the skies --
star fields of the celestial plasma
seem rooted in rising Miranda's eyes.
No garden would exist without her mind,
no mind without its garden double bind.
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