Garden Thoughts: Fall '09

As the radish blossoms in my mouth,
its delicious bitter juices, lick my lips:

i picture

the rabbits meandering from leafy plot
to leafy plot,
digging into my carrots and chives,
sizing up the last brave daffodils
who the resident deer have spared.

My thoughts wander home,
perhaps to my parents house,
slowly surrendering itself to blankets of leaves,
or maybe I am moving forward,

To some Autumn suburb college town;
and I think of my future garden,

and as the red skin of the vegetable vanishes
I smile wider with each crunch.

On Creation

I am the cogs of a watch,
Spilled on the floor:
An introduction of hardwood to metal,
The tiny mechanism of falling,
The gravity of incomplete,
Smashes the watch and time
Stops.

Here I am:
I am the dust in the seems of a trenchcoat,
During the high noon of summer.
Winter will come in turn,
But the conception of cold burns
In mother's womb's
And there will be birth.

Creation is here,
The eloquent prose of patience,
As fragile as a ticking pocket watch.

As the dust is unshook it dances with flecks of snow,
I am married with glee,
To the idea of newborn
Art.