Kit Kelen #1337 - an improvisation

1337

an improvisation

for ataraxia

rough thing my garden

approximate

much as my mother’s

has its own distances

keeps no account

time is nothing to it

rough and all guess

full of birds my garden is

music of just who’s about

all alive here

even the dead

how spirited they come

and not at all

why thank you

we build in it

to show straight lines

so many moods there are

you may ask what I am thinking

whirligig at times

here are the bees

the other little wings

undaunted

having turned a world to be here

sun new very day

has all the years tended me

coming to be

how sad to be among the books

shaped by accidents of fire, of sky

the garden requires me

outside certain hours

I always need its help

through it to yoga

and the sun comes too

hesitating till a poem

could lead to breakfast

that is there as well

prowl and growl

won’t I eat them all alive?

lovely to be run out of words

so struck with the weather, stars

I do a little dance

it always does for me

and find the head

whose god it is in

one gives a life for that

though it overgrows me

I keep the garden always in mind

and sometimes at a jog

might rush the blood around

impatient still and seasons come

I practise at a stillness there

always fail

listen for the echoes

where I am all but gone