The Garden
You are
pondering the power
that forces the snail, winter
grass,
and turtle egg in the far-off
garden.
Rain cleansed cherry branches
then frost questioned
blooms and tender leaves.
They answer nodding,
fold up death and drop
in leisure.
But you commence stirring this
power—
snail, grass, and egg bud—
to blossom to darkness.
A short verse of birds glides up
to meet morning
simple and pregnant.
In the memory of cotton days
and her bandana bowing—
plucking, you prepare
to seize this power
as did the dark arms
of your
mother.-
-
-
Summer God
-
-
Spring lilacs hint at
your arrival
-
As does rain on blades
of grass.
-
-
All summer you play hide
& seek
-
In the moss rose.
-
-
Fall, you play your game
of colors
-
Dazzling me with
harvest.
-
-
Winter finds you
tempering me for the
thaw
-
As the nights grow
longer and colder—
-
-
Let me make my life a
soft, sweet spring
- That flows into you, O
Divine Beloved Summer!
