ghost

--if i were a ghost i'd haunt this garden:
lie down below these tomatoes,
be an insect throughway. My sky
an aromatic tangle: green,
with yellow stars

or sink like rain
into the busy dark beneath:
eyeless smell the white roots reach through
my unfleshed restlessness--
Could i rest there

unlit, listening
to worms creep through this deepfurled world
this universe of small things

could i hear roots slowcreep and drink their little drinks--

oh, i could sleep
a long time

a summer long,
tomato life long
from seedsplit to ripe fruit
to rot
to make this dirt more sweet.