Sometimes all it seems
a little Heraclitean.
(Or is it just Kant /Cant
when noumenon / phenomenon
conspire and pool?)
For the genteel grasses which veer
towards me in the wind,
a parlourful of scandalised alarm,
and dark raspberry canes
hunkered in schiltron
about the apple tree;
and the largest apple globe,
cinnamon smug,
so slowly ripening in such deep shade
sun spangles barely jangle...
Yes? Yes?
are all part of the garden.
Oh. Is that all?
And the over-looming sycamore
looking down pronounces:
'The garden is part of the wilderness.
Well. Look at it!'
And the reaching leaves
at treetop hip hop workout whisper:
'Ah! Don't buck. Don't buck the trend.
Where does sky end
and the us of us begin, my friend.'
And this cloudy blue marble
containing all the eyes of 'I' we know
and all unconsciousness of indigo
seems a star when near,
darkening to a wobble of sunlight
from afar
detectable in data.
Um. Hmm.
That me who now you see (waving
from my round, tiled, Italian style
garden table) and...say... Cyril here
that common fly
who perches on an Irish beach-stone
paperweight veined with white marble
are both,
of course,
articulations of
these symbols on a page.
....................
Wattpad's spell-checker wots not of
1 wot (part of to wit) 2 Heraclitean 3 Noumenon 4 parlourful 5 schiltron 6 Wattpad
Do better Wattpad .
