Searching for a Poem in My Garden

My garden is a confusion
of profusion, much like
my jumbled words.

Not like next door,
plants standing at attention
in orderly rows.

My words can’t stand
still that long.

No, columbines carpet
my garden, choking
coral bells and lilies.

Rhyme pokes through
thick foliage,
brave flowers
crying for coffee.

Proud hollyhocks,
shouting colors,
rise high. 

But hide
the bindweed
of their demise.

As within soaring sound
my words are strangled
by doubt and fear.

Iris leaves cluster,
pierce sunlight.
A meter my words
long to be.

published in Bullshit Literary Magazine