Hanging Garden

July 8, 2009 at 12:02 am | In Uncategorized | Leave a Comment

Off
Into the hanging garden I was sent
To ask a question.

The oracles mark unsteady time
Toes brush the tips of black grasses
Skin drips slow as glass down swaying fingertips
Forming soft stalactites.

Sunshine refused entry past the stone walls
So I come at night
This place is built of shadows
And dust.

And I ask.

Oh, what do they know?
All there’s left for them;
Memories of memories of memories,
Ideas of ideas of ideas.

The very moment the beat your heart skipped
That time the lights all died at once
Pulled out into full endless infinity
Its width lost, collapsed into
The great big O.

And they answer.

The sound of small bells
Peeling in tritones
The creak of the leafless tree
The wind playing that old familiar tune
The future found lacking nourishment
Nothing grows, nothing grows.

I return dumb
Bleary eyed
Nonsensical
And yet, though I do not yet realise this
Refreshed, reborn once more.

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