I’m not a poet, but I am a fool for love. Happy anniversary, dear husband.Rule-breaking Ghazal for Christopher Gardens grow where we intend, I and thou— Plants and cells divide portending two. Spade in dirt, feet dark with soil, My heart I—kneeling, bending—threw. You fled when autumn came, All gelid winter letters sending through. Phlox, cosmos, spring from earth that we have tended. What are you intending, though? At summer’s end you kneel and ask—will I? No less than my heart I’m lending thee. Gardens, children, house and home— Through all these years we’re tending true.