The Garden

There are snails in the garden
Next to the roots of a fruit tree
Uprooted in a storm
A snake lives there
Where once there was both
A living tree and
A buried saint
The garden has two gates
That swing wide
To let us in
We block these gates
But the mouse gets through
I can see his hole in the fence
Close to the pool
My mind tries to reach
All the things lost or broken
As i glide beneath the night water
Scooping evidence of the Fall
From eddying warmth

Knowing that soon
The water will drop to cold
Winter robbing us
Of the fruits of
This garden.


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