332

Left to live in a garden of polished
herbs, I wondered how to find the instant
where shade and meaning conjoined and nourished
the deepest wisdom of the sagest plant:
There was no shade left, only light and green,
no violent shadow to rupture my mind
and make it grow back, more supple and lean,
only fixed beauty, from outside defined:
The tulips stood in pageants of colors,
the yellows ‘gainst reds, ‘gainst purples, ‘gainst blues;
nice scene, no magic, since order covers
divine chaos in its well-meaning hues:
Without darkness, there was no place to dream;
the cultured grass howled like an empty scream.

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