Michael Longley
Wildflowers become weeds
In this small triangular
Garfagnana garden
Where I uproot herb robert,
Spurge, wall-devouring
Valerian, garlicky
Ramsons, dead nettles.
What about oregano
No higher than dogs' piss,
And pennywort protecting
The lizard's hideaway?
I cut back the wild fig tree,
Its roots under the casa
Squeezing our water pipes,
Dozy snails its only fruit.
From acacia-beeless,
Unrelieved-a sexual
Heaviness marries me
And five old women-last
In the village to chant
The Whitsun rosary next
Door at San Rocco's shrine.
I leave them shepherd's purse's
Seedpods-little hearts-
Spoon-shaped petals on spikes.