Under Cover

Last night, before dark,
I went outside and covered
the wisteria and garden phlox
with my moon and star flannel sheets,

but to no avail. This morning, the wisteria
buds sagged like old breasts, though they were small
and so seemingly ripe. The phlox leaves, unfettered
and unfurled, had turned inside of themselves as if

ashamed. Even the clematis, whose tendrils had attached
themselves tightly to the faux wood trellis, were drooping
and seemingly disinterested in the whole shenanigan.
So I disrobed them completely and finally before noon,

with the realization that my small amount of effort
mattered not at all, and that even the best efforts one can make
are at the whim of something larger than oneself. I won't
cover them tonight. I'll let the natural course of living take

its place, let the south reclaim everything to gravity,
as it' s prone to do, cover my own sagging, weathered
body tighter tonight, some simple ruse to soothe
my own misgivings.