The Garden

 

I am learning
to listen,
to witness

the hummingbird
as he considers
the miniature tenderness
of the moment,
the hollyhock’s stamen.

Darling one,
it is not wing-span,
but the miraculous engine
of his heart

that keeps him
aloft. So, I too,
continue my work,
burying

handfuls of seed
into the open
mouth
of the earth.

I dig my heels
into the fertile mind
of the soil,
releasing

the edges
of my longing,
allowing them to fray.
Perhaps,

one day, I will
release my need
to understand
why

things happen
as they do.
How should I know
why a drop

of green
may or may not
surface,
taking root? Eventually,

precise and
iridescent,
my visitor descends
towards

his one desired destination –
as close as two can get
without
ever touching.

 

 


17 Oct 2016

 

 

 

 

 

SK
Purified by Fire! (Or not!)