Night Garden
       

In the garden there is a row of dahlias
each a trembling piston ready
to ignite its pollen fervor.

You read the seasons as if they are fruit.
Tonight it's the season of oranges
blood red globes that hang
from the corpuscles of branches
their leaves saffron scarves
sweetly tonguing the forest's soft thigh.

You have witnessed moments
when the red mouths of pomegranates
opened up their constellations of seeds
and ushered in a wind clear as chamomile.

A stream offers its banks
litters a pillow of sand
With petals of jasmine and rose
the lament of a mourning dove
sculpts the transient sky.

You are always poised to
leap off the earth
and wave your magenta arms
to embrace the downdraft of flight.

Copyright © 2009 T. J. Anderson III All rights reserved
from River to Cross
The Backwaters Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission