The scarlet torches of crape myrtle

Crowd my window, kindled by the sun.

Their thick foliage blocks my view

Of all but the treetops and the sky.

I enjoy the flower-clusters, and butterflies

That visit here, green midges, and bees

That traffic in nectar and yellow pollen.

I might still learn economy or lore

From their abrupt, impulsive intimacy.

But I am jealous of the light that’s lost

To these gorgeous interlopers that began

Five years ago and twenty feet below

As blooming shrubs against the wall.

I remember the castle in a fairy tale,

Overgrown with brambles, trees, and vines,

Fallen under a curse, or witch’s spell,

Lost to the world for years, impenetrable —

A house where only sleep was possible.

I cannot see the garden for the flowers.

Time to throw open the sash. Be merciless!

Out with the shears, off with their pretty heads.