They and other weeds, like anxieties,
spring up in the night uninvited, pummel
their way through plots, plague me
with constant breakthroughs into
cultivated plans, leaving landscapes broken,
then disperse like dreams, falling onto gravel.
This “Golden Shovel” poem was inspired by Ben Alexander’s poem “Straits, or: Expanses” in W3 Prompt #17: Wea’ve Written Weekly on The Skeptic’s Kaddish.