Corner

First day of the month—

a corner of my garden

still needs tending to.

Umbrella

dusty umbrella

still leaning in the corner—

seven years of drought

borrowed umbrella

still leaning in the corner—

fifteen years of dust

safe from prying eyes—

a corner of the garden

where a stray fern grows

cold autumn drizzle

drenching every street corner—

the lamps gutter out

God crouches each night

in a corner of my room,

then springs up to dance.