At the foot of the bed, the chin of our garden space has a sunflower beard. The face of the space has tomato sprout down. The eyes, looking up, wear manure on their frown. This is the ground where our peppers have been. Go ahead — bury me here. Winter this mirror, the spring of I am. Flatter me, scatter me, shadow me, pillow me, turn the sheets down. Rain me, dream me, love me to sleep. Snow me so deep I can’t hear a sound. Snow me. Snow me. Snow me. Snow me.