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My Sculpted Garden

by John Stocks

This is my garden.
I have slowly sculpted its contours,
Scented its twilight with nicotina,
Placed fragrant thyme for footfalls to squeeze
Aromatic bliss from tiny leaves.

On summer evenings I light lanterns,
Placing them in the distant corners,
Resting others on cool stones by the pond.

In autumn, when the wild west wind blows,
I listen for the creaking birch trees,
Feel each sharp crack of fractured rapture.

This is my garden,
And when the sensual swifts return
Within the daring instant I am born.

Copyright © 2011 by John Stocks

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