The houseplants thanked me
in their particular green way,
for your unexpected aspirations
on the climbing philodendron
in the guest room where you slept
last night and for your fragrant exhalations
of carbon dioxide on the spiderwort
potted in the living room
when we companionably watched
The Kominsky Method with Alan Alda
and Michael Douglas, laughing together
at Douglas’ frequent visits to the bathroom
as an aging male.

The grandchildren went to sleep on the study’s
yellow fold-out futon where there are no plants
but plenty of fresh air from the open windows
where ivy clings tenaciously to the wall outside.