generalisations are
rough
even from a
madeleine
enter a place
set a moment
in space
the feeling of
synthesis is there
outlasting the
butterfly bloom of youth
not afloat in a fog
of abstract absentia
neither analysis nor
assembly
of the grandest horticultural triumphs
such as the terrible
wheeling galaxy
not made with
military precision,
brute force, and ignorance,
not signed by the maker
an atom of the whole
a drop of blood from
the beloved’s temple
one still says in
awe
eppur si muove
a green shoot
trembles in a friable prospect
between the rattling
firs and frozen cobwebs
a gardener knows
what to do
but what if the
gardener
is you?
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