deepundergroundpoetry.com
My night garden
Stocktaking,
after sweeping up the debris of the day
events bandaged where sandman’s dust rests
in the short eternity, till morning
fermenting fruits, a plantation where the vines
produce a nectar stolen from Gods
dark ground where the subconscious rests
its roots releasing the trauma of the day
grey clouds rolling down the slopes
snores that cannot be ignored
resolution, of grief
cutting winds and stony ground
the compound interest
of loss as days progress
the scents, of brushed rosemary and thyme
distilled as dawn it slowly creeps.
after sweeping up the debris of the day
events bandaged where sandman’s dust rests
in the short eternity, till morning
fermenting fruits, a plantation where the vines
produce a nectar stolen from Gods
dark ground where the subconscious rests
its roots releasing the trauma of the day
grey clouds rolling down the slopes
snores that cannot be ignored
resolution, of grief
cutting winds and stony ground
the compound interest
of loss as days progress
the scents, of brushed rosemary and thyme
distilled as dawn it slowly creeps.
Published Yesterday
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