It wasn’t man that planted
garden
that sowed the
first fruits
that bid heaven
relinquish!
water this earth.
Was soul there in void
to whisper
most secret wants?
A stream, a flower
a twinkling star
a patterned heavens, a mystery
to give thought.
Was love there in infinite
expanse
just before the chain
was forged?
Did she long to embark
as story would have it
or did she long
to stay?
In garden at night
I hear loves’ cry.
I sit up in darkness,
take notice,
though all direction
is lost.
This is epic;
I’m crying for
lost parts of life
As if somewhere
there’s more of garden
more of love.
Love in garden
is a feeling of loss
and loss in garden
is a new birth
and birth in garden
is immediate death
like the passing of spirit
through man.
Appear signs in season
I ready the plow
to plant in garden a seed
to sprout
and mirror creation
and give a seasons fruit
And make intercession
as garden takes root
To mirror a reflection
of heaven’s host
And plant here in man
everlasting.
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