One evening late I walked abroad
Into the warm and humid dark
To set a sprinkler with the hope
Of keeping yard and lawn alive.
Where patio meets fertile dirt
I’d ranged a row of rustic pots,
Good terracotta, stuffed with flowers,
Crowded close so I could tend them.
With the thought of saving work,
I shifted several pots to spots
Where water from the sprinkler fell
So they could reap this benison.
Out from beneath, between, behind,
Where they’d been hiding, biding time,
Came scurrying and jostling
A host, a gecko congregation,
Blinking at the light, at me,
Unrehearsed for confrontation,
Fat and awkward from the insect
Manna gobbled every night,
Mated, sated, satisfied
By the blessings they’d been granted . . .
How unprepared they seemed to greet
A visit by the Garden God!
©2004 John I. Blair