i don’t think of you lying in dark clay waiting
even though just days ago
you closed your eyes
and wouldn’t move
even though i felt your heart's last beat
and begged you and god
for just a little more of your time
i see you kneeling in your garden
surrounded by yellow flowers, cats, foxes and racoons
holding dark earth in one hand, a bulb in the other
turning to me
chattering
about how glorious – and that is your word, not mine –
how glorious that the bulb will blossom
humbly unaware
or unconcerned
with your participation
in that glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment