It was Condensation-damp that night
when I paid a visit to your garden
and it grew well, at least the Morning Glories did
and it was your mother’s favorite spot
in the whole wide world
and it was fitting, I suppose,
in all the wrong sorts of ways,
that you went so far to show it to me.
After all, though we tread softly,
it was not our garden to trod upon.
Your mother was quick to show us that,