For The Memory

Your tops on the line hanging down Swaying gently in the coolness of breeze The evening comes in its violet gown Darkening the lawn and the leaves You turned on the light, it reflects outside The pot that stands close to the house Is illuminated most brightly tonight I see all its rims and the flowers Are stretching up high, maybe sensing the moon If it can look out of the cloud The air spreads magical smells in the bloom Cicadas are chirping aloud I think at the end of an August it was, Last year, when you opened the door And photoed your garden for me, just because I asked you the same day, before.