Monday, December 4, 2017

Kit Kelen #702 - I make a garden of myself


702
I make a garden of myself

I take my bliss where blessed
and tend
a haircut's needed everywhere

I'm all blade to edit
winters I consign to fire
warm by waste

I dig
with beds made up
and lie in
so morning's at a stretch

I make a garden of you
with me
and tendril to the touch

we have a game to make
the middle
it will consist of seasons

summer is an often instance
goes on half the year

I'll make a moment
to inhabit
you can read it here
and picture all yourself

then it will be your own work too

I won't tell a single name
but take the scent in passing

nor will birds say themselves
but call
and twig and branch
so sway
all claims to my attention

all wellings-up are of the heart

some days I just evaporate
the bad smell could be me
whose snout is it to tell?
there's noone dares say

how stubbornly a garden goes
and that's to take the air

I take my bliss where blessed
and tend

life's a flash
and then you're ash
but still this world goes round

I care as much as I can too
it's because of care we're here

and here's a sun to wish for showers
and here's the flood
I wash away
I drink it down

to pond!
and with contraption bung

I make a garden of my mood
so little of all grown is food

all groan for such a rhyme
for pun
and never quite repeated

I take my bliss where blessed
and tend

I'm like the vine
as drunk to its own twirl
as well met!
and neighbours, friends!

the garden's all on cue
I have a hat for it
in fact I have a few few

there's magic of what's not here
the months away imagined
and other things float down

of course it's autumn when the moon says
and all year spring is coming

less you eat the more time there is
but meals come on like clockwork

the simplest lesson's to live now
(it's happening anyway
and while you wait)
cannot a garden be happy with that?

I tune the thing to daylight
and I tone it down to dark

cicada and fugue
there's the tale of out from under!

I make the echoes and I hum
until the words must come

the symphony's unfinished

nights - notice how the stars grow here
and dew from nowhere fallen

is there a colour of this truth?
and mine among foretelling
but every end is here
like the nowhere ladder hidden
I won't remember when
but plan to make mine in this place
with the garden all about me

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