gardener
I am not ready
don't pluck me

I'm saddened by my mirrored face,
Smiling like a Sogdian on his rock,
When every grain-glass touched
Conceals belded thoughts.
Still I don't dare
To settle on that canopic fold.
At night's blessed brim,
Sing a good song for me,
And place this wood-husk lute on the wadi....
Come spring I'll be just as cold.

I have come in turquoise robes,
Cast out by the breadth of wild waters,
Riding from the cold north
To pursue an arctic sunset.
Each morn I awaken
On the back of a green dragon.
My leather snaps in the breeze;
In the pine islands, oxen murmur
As I fly boldly on the whistling currents.
...My heart ignites:
No more will I mildly give answer,
But courage shall be my cornerstone,
And the Spirit of God shall guide my flight.

Now Fleming told the agency
what was required of me:
that wind might be converted
to electric energy.

"Before the snow flies,
and with all due haste!"
So I packed my sulphur
and I packed my case;
I ascended glassy stairdreams
to the roof of the place,
and I spoke real plain
to the agency man,
saying, "Take a little risk
on my redan plan."

But all that's left of Scotland
is the spiral runes,
so I'm setting up a mission
on a salt embankment,
and I'll build a nice house
on the green, green dunes.

Tepid damp and lukewarm night,
Build your camp by rivers bright;
Sable black and and somber grey,
Silt the river's arms away.

Island tenements rent for cheap,
Bakèd bricks in plinths lie deep;
Stores of merchants and their wives,
Sheltered from the thund'rous tides.

Glance on that maternal shrine,
Softly angled toward the Rhine;
See the men with flowing beards,
Seldom entertaining fears.

Moon illumes a stony pose,
Sun sustains a garden rose;
Temple pillars bathed in or,
Leave mute shadows on the floor.

Olifant horns begin to sound,
Tribesmen fall upon the town;
Riding with the northern gust,
Trampling the homes to dust.

Yet, as gateside rocks abound,
From the ashes, rises now,
Where that city met disgrace,
A mighty fortress in its place.

O, rolling river of silvery shore,
Take me to my home once more;
I'm weary and tired,
My soul is spent,
And my body will water the fields.
Will water the fields
Above the clouds,
In gentle, whispering vales.

For love! (For love!)
Endure! (Endure!)
Hosanna! my enduring love,
Forever!

Carry me on,
Carry me swiftly to ashen groves,
The rocks that will become my home;
And lay me on the Roman road,
Where travelers may remark.
They may remark,
When passing by,
With chariots on their wings:

For shame! (For shame!)
For grief! (For grief!)
Oh! a kind-hearted fellow was he;
May he rest in lasting peace,
Forever!

I see apes walking on ice,
I see snakes slithering on snow,
lively eyes indulge my dream,
and it haunts me.

worry, worry, worry.
marked drips on a stained walkway
catch my stare so often
I forgot I was looking

by two levels, I drop.
the ground awaits me.
today, I am sure-footed;
I will not buckle.

an enigma passes:
I wrest free my heart,
but too late!
all that is left...
a cold afternoon,
a quiet memory,
a regretful encounter.

and countless others
who, in unfortunate confidence
might turn away in disdain...
they won't know a flower's scent.

if I were one of them,
I would stand up and say,
"Advance, Collingchance!
Attach your legions to mine,
and together we will conquer!"
or I would approach you like a highwayman
and make demands of you....

but since I am not,
my only demand
is that you accept me
for what I am.