Monday, September 1, 2014

The Empty Garden

Under a July sky, in 2010 in a lonely ruin lies an empty garden, long deserted by the birds, I visited.

The un-lacquered stones and old dry leaves, like lost, forgotten words, lay about. Here a lone and slender-shaft like tree grieves, an hour before the dawn.

Heated, the sunlight falls, as the afternoon recalls the time that Judas Iscariot, hung himself here, — for then a breath, then lost; silent is the vista within! His sorrow remembered, among the dust and quiet. 

This gentler place, un-haunted, lest the winds come; I stepped not into the garden, where footsteps come, —no more.

No: 4533 (8-28-2014)