when writing in the garden

...it is not me gardening.

It is the gardener in the I
of the storm
testing the air with his finger
budding calligraphy
from his master’s pallet.

When I write, speak, live
from the seat in the center
of The Garden,
it is with either:

The voice of old gods—the riders of Shem;
a trumpeting messenger with news!
Or
The mad squiggled lines left behind
on the path by The Fool
on his way to the upside-down noose;
stuck on the card that played him.

But at the end of the day
when I am
lying in bed, eyes closed,
inside The Wayfarer’s Temple,
it doesn’t matter how the voice comes,
came—
always comes,
all that matters is:
that you read
all the way through to the end.

Let The Gardener’s seeds
from the earth of the sea
take care of the roots and the rest.

All you need to do
is listen to the wind through the trees,
while breathing
in deep,
the cherry scent essence
of words.




© Kristin Reynolds 6 21 2010

Densities 94

why would anyone want to be born?

to be at war

with oneself

or to turn others into a bloody mess?

nothingness

that perfect glove

that fits your hand perfectly

it has its charm school manners

but one must be a cannibal

full of big ideas

eating your enemy's brains raw

you need the stomach of a wild dog

to win a meal at this table

Densities 86

100 billion stars

and beyond them

100 billion galaxies

all held in place

set in motion

in empty space

which has many bodies

in its belly

as many eyes as stars

everything created points

toward the future

whatever I hold in my hands

possesses me

immediately

Densities 78

my experience of delusion and truth

and how to tell the difference

during summer vacation

was my term paper topic in tenth grade

I wonder what it feels like to think behind your eyes

to dream the same dream just once

or fall in step with your steps when you have

nowhere to go

what do you think about the massacres in the fields?

the beautiful horror of it all

night coming on with its nocturnal appetites

who are up with the moon cleaning their teeth

I was badly bitten by ants when I was a child

they were so small I couldn't take it personally

cockroaches however covered the floor walls and ceiling

of the kitchen

the whole room swimming with them moved

around me

pulsating with a life of its own

it was monstrous

it was repulsive standing there in the middle of it

I kept thinking: I wish you could see this!