of everything I meant to do:
The bed of strawberries, leaves frozen, ground frozen,
crying silently for a cover of straw.
The garden hose coiled neatly; a snake of ice.
The cannas bulbs undug
waiting patiently beneath stiffly frozen stalks.
Those potted plants,
drenched by the last rain,
anchored in place on the porch step.
Their immovable solidness a mockery
of all my good intentions.
