This Garden

This garden
Belongs to no
Particular space
Or age --creation
Is not frozen in place.
Over clouds, the loud
Sun roars in its cage,
Announcing life,
Then silence. 
Then we go where
We have not been.

Nexus

On earth,
Brass bells
Hang from
Umbrella  branches.
Everything has its birth.
Rounding dawn
Dreams back its
Billion years.
Old red stars in our
Cosmic spine
Barely displace darkness
Now, persist in
Garden roses.
What disappears in
Light, shadow exposes--
From antiquity,
Remotest night,
In wind where
Little bells emit
A melody to
What is still
Suspended there.

Irreducible

Here raindrops on
Purple iris fall,
Lit in clouds climbing
Our valley wall,
Refract a world,
An endless hour 
From an idly 
Unfolding flower.

Temporal Covenant

All experience
Bound to one
Instant, an
Enchanted flash
Of fire and shape.
Is it motion or
Expanding stillness?
Silence grows.
What time
Is a rose?

Rainy Day Garden

She brought in blossoms
From our darkening garden,
Arranged a conference
Of color and scents --
A kitchen counter review
Of what our world ought
To do under storm.
There was no debate, only
Fragrance enacting law--
Nor reform-- only a planet
Each blossom saw wheeling
Under rain and sun, and
Always a quotient of one.

Yet

Forty-six years ago we
Wed on an equinox, yet always
I am a pilgrim in her garden.
I am tired from trimming
Trees along the fence, yet,
Next year, even older like
Today, hope to descend
This ladder and lay my
Chainsaw in its box--
I am an old ox with a
New pain in my shoulder.
Yet, and yet it seems 
Sometimes like she and
I have only just met.

The Gardener's Farewell To Winter

Spirits torn in tears
And laughter rejoin
As east wind amassed
Moves undiminished
On --much happens after 
What happened last, yet,
Spirit is still unfinished.
It is resourceful, sturdy.
Clouds inquire from the
Sea, so don't be remorseful.
It only confuses me.