To you, gardener,
of flowers under oozing rays of honey.
Who in your memory helped bloom,
vibrant beauty, so absent from this summer.

To you, gardener,
who gives colors from yellow, blue, green and red Hughes.
which explode like a choir amongst the rocks and air.
in your explosive tune, that your dove,
vessel of posthumous beauty, takes flight.

For you, who helped him bloom!
That took him out of the dark,
as you turned a bud into a flower,
coal into a diamond,
a babe into an eagle.

For you, after that one night.
Left him in solitude, as you dreamed amongst the stars.
For you, sweet gardener, unleashed his celestial voice,
as he searched amongst the thorns of time and space.
crying, begging, pleading for reunification.

He forgot the stars,
  he lost his spark,
      he danced for the night,
          as he begged, pleaded, lost in flight
                   praised and saddened by your glory,
like you sweet gardener, I want to raise a flower,
  watch it bloom, watch it sing, watch it soar,
          but never leave it alone. . .