A Writer Is Someone Who Has Written Today

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Life's Pattern


In a corner of my garden ... once overgrown profusion of green:
spade-shaped leaves, an ivy guarded by thorns.

I never walked too close, afraid
of tendrils capturing my ankle,
dragging me into itself –
then, never free, lost in that barbed lattice.

Strange plant.
On occasion, and only at night,
it burst into bloom.

Waxy, white petals,
surrounding a flower cup,
gleaming in the dark.

Each floral chalice

holding drops of fluid,
heavy with unbearably sweet, hot scent.

For a season, this plant tangled around my heart.
And then, within life’s pattern,

died back.

I work in my garden,

potting and pulling spent flowers off vines.
Glancing at times

to where that plant thrived.

Nothing grew there.

Until today.

2 Comments:

Blogger still life said...

what is it...moonbeam?

12:23 PM

 
Blogger mireille said...

if that's what you see. and that's lovely. xoxo

1:23 PM

 

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