Thrive

Tendrils wind like wire, twine woody limbs.
A green, tenacious noose. Vines thrive

by choking, and gardeners leave no love
for slender goblets, white as a full moon,

opened for day’s first expansive light.
Early June, I yanked stems from daphne, rhododendron,

pulled where I could see and reach,
but not enough. Morning Glory:

Pale trumpets now unfurl
on the steepest slopes,

herald the sin of neglect,
grow taunting—for perhaps I will not pull them

until the blooms are spent,
seeds already burgeoning.

It will start over: this easy forgetting,
the fertile reproach.