Waning garden in late summer sun,
standing, bare feet in soil,
begrudgingly admiring
the efficiency of a hornworm
on the lucky tiger tomato plant
I brought home from the farmer’s market
in Spring.

The seedling grew out of control
while we were away in July,
latent efforts to curtail its spread
unsuccessful enough
there’s an overflowing bowl
of red-tinged harvest
on the kitchen table.

I decide to cede the branch
and the two partly-nibbled fruit
to the bright green caterpillar’s lunch.

Turning to the fading cosmos,
reaching out to grasp
a dried, star-like cluster,
previously a delicate white flower,
and marveling at the
seeds across my palm.

The potential for infinite
future seasons of blossoms
from a single bloom.

Pausing, drinking in this interruption
of scarcity-obsessed, commodified structures,
savoring this oasis of abundance,
while my breath becomes
a blessing and a prayer.