Jeffrey Miller: I come from a garden

I come from a garden
four siblings (different as our own seasons)
green beans picked &
snapped open separated by ideas

Yellow autumn sent us
each in four directions
taking brother away from brother

eventually we will make it into stews and red sauces
our sides pointing sharply
at each other
only
ideas run grey or blue
or blood

we will return
one by one in turn
with our season
&
visit each other in our overturned garden

until we exchange
thoughts
            like
                 cannon
                        fire