"The Secret Garden."
This poem concerns the relationship of son and father,
seen under the light of the star, Wormwood.
"The place is growing difficult. Flails of bramble crawl
into the lawn.
On every hand, glittering toughened branches
drink their dew.
Tiny worlds, drop by drop tremble on thorns and leaves.
They will melt away.
The silence whispers around us, 'wither, wither, visible,
invisible.'
A child stands an instant at my knee,
his mouth smells of energy, light does light.
I touch my hand to his pale flesh taking strength,
he stands still, absorbing in return the first paint.
Immaculate, the waiting kernel of his brain.
How set him free, a son, toward sour encounter?
Children's voices somewhere call his name.
He runs glittering into the sun and is gone.
I cultivate my garden for the dew.
A rasping boredom follows into death.
The sun climbs a creature of one day, and the dew dries to dust.
My hand strays out and picks off one sick leaf."