in the Garden
So much longing here among the rows
every plant reaching for sun in a short
season. The peas want blossom and bees
and something sturdy to climb the carrots
want deeper. There is so much secret in
Twilight late June and dawn again soon.
A voyage awaited us all seed to leaf flower
and seed again. The garden of possibility
where everything is a miracle of sun
transformed to sugar where love and root
and water come together beneath horizon
and what happened here before between
and between. When you take your beloved
in your arms this night hold her as if
the last time. There is hunger out there.
I’m still alive though all the birch
leaves have fallen and it’s frosted
hard three times now. I’m still alive
and my lilac trumpets darken to
specks of maroon inside though
my leaves are edged with yellow
bright as the fire hydrant they
planted me next to last spring.
Sunset earlier each night and soon
snow. You can still know me.
Most of my friends have died.
You can still know me for a few
more days before I wilt and become
a palimpsest of myself under snow
and twilight. How do I feel? I am
the pale moon. I am the violet
edge of green aurora. I am still
alive. How do I feel? You know
I’m poisonous enough to kill
don’t you? You know my poison
keeps me alive in what breeze
there is until the trembling stops?
Sun off snow speared my eye
and the river shattered back
into itself. Or out of itself
into ocean into air and bank.
Some trees perished then
swept along along until they
became someone’s wood.
If this is the season of rebirth
why do I feel flayed nerves
twitching exposed like the twigs
of that birch surfacing over
there on the other side of the river?
If this is the season of green
where is it oh where do I go
to hear wren song warblers
ready to nest? Out of itself
the river swept towns clean
off the foundations they had
clung to for human generations.
Out of itself the river roared
welcome to salmon at sea.
Snowmelt ice splinter
sun the knife honed on tilt
wedged a voice into wind
wind into birds returned.
Inside you there is storm is silk is wind
inhabiting words spoken blue ago
before the long storm coming is kind
inside you I lose myself in new snow
Inside you the silk is cloudwind is sky
is snow subsuming blue is blind shadow
inside the silvered moon inside the cry
trees make when storm and moon begin to
Inside you me inside you blue nothing
no time no mind wandering far along
the where silkseam joins snowstorm to circling
words is sound is willow in wind is song
Inside you I am no time a pure taste
of shadowsnow is fire is distance
inside a black feather is wind in space
moonflame corona is nowcloud is since.