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