THE GARDENS IN THE CITY

THE GARDENS IN THE CITY

I walk past the gardens in the city every day;
the landscape's array of harmony and texture
is wasted on the mannequins scurrying by.
The wily fountain plays mind games with me;
it sprays the air with a stale taste
that reminds me of tea in a styrofoam cup.
The water whispers your name and wakes me up
as it cascades in sheets over the walls of stone,
making me even more aware that I am alone.

Maybe tomorrow I'll take another route;
it's spring. If there's anything I can't deal with,
it's rebirth-buds bursting open like firecrackers
that celebrate the season.
Winter's icy overcoat melts away; Earth floods,
revealing the debris underneath-a mixed stash
of cigarette butts, paper and leaves. I crash
every year about this time. I'd rather see snow
in its sterile frigidity than what's buried below.

There's a hole in the clouds where the sun
ought to be. Daylight, dimmer than the night sky,
drifts aimlessly down to my head; it has no warmth,
no luster. Two little sparrows become lost
in their mating dance- I remember my empty bed.
I never had the chance to get to know you;
how different life would look to me if the two of us
were here. I can't help but wonder if I might have
captured your heart. Time flies mercilessly by.

~ Broken Wings ~

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