I see the garden that the senses bless
Till each tree is a harvest of weightiness,
Though the garden of Eden was laden with less.
Sea deep in light and rich with the browns
Of giving and getting, the fruit of towns,
The trees are heavy with suns and bones.
The fruit is just beginning to fall,
Severed from the brawny branch of the All,
As the hill of gravitation stands up tall.
The fruit lies still on that great hill’s top,
The fruit that is severed and poised to drop,
And there they hang like things in a shop.
There is not a leaf that is not loose,
Each slender stem is a toe in a noose
In its leap for freedom caught for use.
The branches too dash out from the trunks
A company of shapeless leathery shanks
Long and dressless and scattering ranks.
Creatures of hugest color, the flowers
Have reached the top of their match-thin towers
All wings outspread and ready to soar.
Yes, things are leaving the converging pack,
A star of explosion with the five-way crack
Though held together by the grip of slack.
It’s a dangerous balance the moment foretells,
A ceiling laid idle on the vast loose walls
Of the house of cards that never falls.
On the stalk of being blindly alive
I see in the garden a star arrive-
Shine on, O star of the senses five!-
And light the dead who will leave the ground
To meet the greenhouse as it topples down.
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