Letter with no Address

[gloryrun]

Your daffodils rose up
and collapsed in their yellow
bodies on the hillside
garden above the bricks
you laid out in sand, squatting
with pants pegged and face
masked like a beekeeper's
against the black flies.
buttercups circle the planks
of the old wellhead
this May while your silken
gardner's body withers or moulds
in the proctor graveyard. i drive and talk to you crying.
and come back to this house
to talk to talk to your photographs.