They return in desirable colors of the season,
whether casually or stupidly, to simplify the garden
of its sweetest shoots and tips, though I have set out
dogbane and stinking tansy in a rage,
nightshade and fire thorn and bitter sprouts
and bepissed with the collusion of the moon
the glistening rows, so that half a county downwind
any pack of them, suddenly transparent
with hunger at a crossing, will feel as surely
as if they were in my heart that this is a land
too poisonous and overwrought to feed upon.