Visitations
I sit under their shades,
O trees in this garden
of gold and green.
I hear their mystic conversations
and wait for another voice
to approach the next seat
and ask,
"Is this taken?"
All my life,
it seems,
I have seen
the same squirrels
make their
seating arrangements
here.
Even today,
they don't shy away
from looking
back at me.
Their place is
permanent here.
The stripes on their backs
make an alignment
with my body.
I have come to know
how
in the acuity
of their everyday trysts
with food and water,
they make more than an exception
to look at me.
***
I've been observant.
In these seven years or so,
like a free hand
your two doors
have remained open,
O garden
beloved to me.
It's your custom
to shelter
traveling refugees
here.
***
Send me your
invitations for the morning,
my friends.
I want to
reacquaint
myself
with your
vegetation.
You are the home
second to my own
a few paces besides you.
To come to you
is as identical
as the falling of
dew drops
on the pages
of my books.
I want to read
those books
with your verdure.
***
Leave your doors unbarred
for the morning.
Only then
can we
defeat
these shivers exiting
January.
O trees in this garden
of gold and green.
I hear their mystic conversations
and wait for another voice
to approach the next seat
and ask,
"Is this taken?"
All my life,
it seems,
I have seen
the same squirrels
make their
seating arrangements
here.
Even today,
they don't shy away
from looking
back at me.
Their place is
permanent here.
The stripes on their backs
make an alignment
with my body.
I have come to know
how
in the acuity
of their everyday trysts
with food and water,
they make more than an exception
to look at me.
***
I've been observant.
In these seven years or so,
like a free hand
your two doors
have remained open,
O garden
beloved to me.
It's your custom
to shelter
traveling refugees
here.
***
Send me your
invitations for the morning,
my friends.
I want to
reacquaint
myself
with your
vegetation.
You are the home
second to my own
a few paces besides you.
To come to you
is as identical
as the falling of
dew drops
on the pages
of my books.
I want to read
those books
with your verdure.
***
Leave your doors unbarred
for the morning.
Only then
can we
defeat
these shivers exiting
January.
The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.