Unknown Gardens
Summer shadows flutter, golden light filters
Through lovely shades of crimson crab apple –
the magenta blooms have long since faded
and dropped to the ground, fallen among
the rocky hedge and tanning mulch–
Disappeared to become one with the land
She isn’t there anymore, but I can still
taste the goodness of sitting underneath
the shade of dusk, evenings on the porch,
she on the yellow rocking chair, me on the
front stoop, listening to the mourning doves
and crickets in the background of our summer play
A soul flits by as common as a bee on a flower–
Lighting for a moment, then drifting away to
unknown gardens, bringing back the scent of
something distant, something foreign,
not familiar like the scent of a rose, pungent
when crushed by unknown pedestrians walking
forward, engaged in conversation, oblivious
to the world below–
They do not notice petals
Stuck to their shoes
I dreamt of a garden once,
Unknown and distant, with
Bright colors and promises of no feet
And sweet fragrance and hummingbirds–
But as I got closer, it was a mirage
Created by my own words and
Wrecks of previous scripts, tossed
But not apparently forgotten–
I did not know what my mind could create–
An unknown field, overgrown, unkempt
Needing care, cultivation–
Until that bee came by and spoke
In my ear, directed me to the place
It came from, or else I’d still be digging out
Of the ruts of past wheels
Instead of following the tiniest of these
To an unknown garden.
.
.