Patio

I count the bricks
(Each pairing clicks),
Count the space
I need to make
To hold four chairs,
A plate of pears,
And a table of wood
On which the plate
Can sit.

To this green shade
I won’t admit
Defeat, or heat,
Or an angry clock
Outraged at having
No time to tell,
Or love embarrassed
Because unanswered,
Or men political
And thick.

Bricks and dirt,
Sand and shade,
The thirsty maples
Still in our service—
Is this how the word
Turns into flesh,
No paten raised
But a summer yard,
One child hiding
Deep in forsythia,
The other boldly
Waiting to be born?