1183. NOW ANIMATED BY WHAT IT MEANS TO SAY

NOW ANIMATED BY
WHAT IT MEANS TO SAY
Escarpment. The lawn was folding down -
an old green, now tired and dying, the
color of Fall. Everywhere, things were
dropping. Bird voices tried singing again;
last attempts to cheer up the gloom?
-
Upcoming, we too rise like larkspur and
other floral charm, watching magics and
illusions prance the solid expanse - one
of dirt and place and room. We are not
leaving this place too soon, for the wind,
it calls on us to stay, and the light -
some solar-powered force of now -
elects that we will play, here, with the
living and not with the dead.
-
A harsh, chalkboard cough, like the kind a
dull teacher would give for silence, now
pervades this garden space. Water through
the fountain splays, as some personification
of Grace or Truth or Humility or Wisdom
or Love. One of those things we try, in
granite or stone, to have chiseled into
form, as if from above.
-
Alas, too deeply this heavy world
wields a hammer of its own.