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  NOW IS FOR PLANTING THE FIELDS

   

Floral lines do not come to me

these days are notes – quips on the fly

not a hand – a young love

you trembled to find me open

spread for your unbridled dibble

 

Row by row you planted

the order by your choice

hell – even the time was yours

somnambulism became me

patient as the farmer’s field

 

Our garden delighted at first

the shrubs grown tall for shelter

no one could find us embedded

our garden shifted to labyrinth

and I woke

 

To quick turns and quicker straightaways

our stroll had turned to footrace

blurred in the flurries of future

each eyeing each in the mindview mirror

caught at the start/finish line

 

Clutching our packets I am equal

to our committed task of choice

with wildflower mix in hand

now is for planting the fields

to hell with the order and timing

 

We will not need labyrinthine pathways

to define the natural order

of our garden intuited chaos

floral lines will never express

this trembling we have for each other

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