With purple mint the gardener conversed,
while students had an Easter break from school.
He dug a hole on March the 31st
and called himself an aging April fool.
He stuck bromeliads in rotting wood
and traced the snaking irrigation hose
beneath the silted ivy. Then he stood
and studied how the blue datura grows.

I watched him as I tried to rinse the mud
that caked the steps. Against the mortared brick
I aimed the water, where the winter flood
had left its mark. The gardener threw a stick
and as the dog retrieved he said, “I’m great,
compared to how I’ll feel at 68.”