There is an overgrowth in the corner of my back yard
Ivy and vines and weeds and bushes — a sloppy ice cream sundae of green
I’ve stared into its chaos often and thought of how to cut it down
But it’s where my neighbors live — the birds, I mean
And they sing for me, so I will keep their cluttered home right where it is
I won’t strangle the wild places in myself anymore
I’ve learned that’s where the songs come from.
