Her tinderbox house
the tint of rain
sinks early behind
blue hydrangea shadow.
Inside she sleeps
with sorrow
dreams the secret
of color
she alone knows:
her husband
driving iron
three pennies
into black soil
beside the root
to hold
the first laid hue.
Spaded beds
are empty now
but currant bushes
need little tending.
Hydrangeas reach
to eaves
grow deeper
with the rust
set in dusty plots
beside her box.