tending_gardens
mavoureen digging praties and the clouds are just so -

and you walk down the walk, and each step

you take regives it that name,

your feminine baptism

your charging it all with life,

until my eyes connect the two -

the song i'm singing, the basic work i'm doing,

and you there, your hair spare like hurried prose.

we'll go about our business in our little worlds all day,

like honeybees we'd like to call bold legged wasps,

who can't convey to each other

what they already share

as they alight on the rich colors

of flowers different and so alike.

and they are landing separate in the actual soft feel of petals

underfoot,

but interchangeable in encylopedia pictures,

in that common language of dances and wings humming.

lonely but all everything so not really lonely.

later we'll cook up what we've collected from the garden -

and we'll eat and look upon one another -

with bemused tenderness,

that is not justified in the strict sense

of philosophers and encyclopedias -

but keeps working, keeps the garden tended.

not the tense dangered lives of flowers and bees,

but the clouds passing just so -

for a moment we're them with our eyes -

so that each part of the world,

each unasked task each part stands for,

is represented in our own tasks asked for.

later, after putting away the dishes,

we'll sit together on the floor near

the bed, and we'll touch hands,

my hand will be the sweeping of your hair

from your neck.

and that's it exactly -

i'll be your flower, you my bee,

and at the same time, across the space of some infinite sets

of coursed veins, coursing faster

and skin and shaken dust
and air -

it will also be the opposite.

and so we will also convey

what we cannot share.

the garden lost in the outside, past the darkened

window -

and yet in our hands.

and we kiss like in encyclopedias they

kiss

and we kiss like rich soft petals

of

purple and red.

closing our eyes to the clouds passing

just so.

concentrating, bringing together,
with eyes following honest hands,

making real the work of day -

a garden kept in the night. 		070108
...
and i love 070109
...
and i have made it my career. 070109
...
nom this is my favourite poem 070117
...
megan i'm growing a pussy willow bonsai from a cutting from miguel's backyard

it's just starting to root 		070203
...
tessa attending gardens
being present
at the garden 		070203
...
nom and_we_kissed 070324
what's it to you?
who go 		blather
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