THE NIGHT GARDEN
My first
garden was the night sky, the obsidian floor
of the
temple treasury strewn with ruby and topaz,
the five
sapphire jasmine flowers of the Southern Cross,
the great
Kohinoor of night-blooming Sirius.
Especially
when all are in bed, then I am alone
with
those Chaldean sages, ploughing lines between lights
in the
soft loam of the darkness with our eyes, seeing
glimmering
heroes and monsters in the tactile night.
World
turns and pale stars spin like Van Gogh’s vision.
The
exotic orchids of rare novae bloom.
Poppy-red
Betelgeuse and Aldebaran nod. Spur-wing plovers
mourn
beneath the great cauliflower of a Méliès moon.
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