(ii 6/8/97)

I always feel I am tending
someone else’s garden
but I am not sure whose,
I always think it is her’s
this last woman who left
the one whose husband
was a tattoo artist
This is not the place
I would have expected
a tattoo artist to be
but I have heard of her
walks around the lake
there is a feeling I have
of this woman, it is perhaps
a feeling I have of some
she is the woman
I buy hats for I believe
at least garden hats
she is the one I am
thinking of when I make
she is the one out in front
of me somewhere,
who seems to have always
just been when I have just
gotten to, the one I write
about and then forget
where I have put the poems.