Three good pictures

My life is a short, intense celebration.
With almost every breath I take, I get

a new sense and understanding
of the linden tree, of ripened wheat,

of hay, and of mignonette.
I suck everything up into me.

When it’s warm and I’m tired, I sit down
and weave a yellow garland, a blue one,

and one of thyme. A reaper in a blue smock.
He mows down all the little flowers

in front of my door. I know now of two
other pictures with death in them.