Eden (2001)
wishy washing around ocean breezes.
Patches of cool shade
covering the green blazer of earth.
I stare for hours
at the one perfect orchid
spat from the side of a palm.
I am part of the garden.
Hinted only by the twirl of smoke
sliding up through air,
even the bugs think I’m plant.
They stop, rest on my leg,
Searching for nectar.
Occasionally I feel like a weed,
pulling some precious nutrient away.
Injecting fetid compost in its place.
Turning green into brown,
drying up the cool soil
to reflect my soul.
Sometimes I feel like fertilizer,
flowing through stems and branches.
Filling the place with light,
An image of lushness.
My smoke flutter/squirts away,
And I notice the sky isn’t as blue as it used to be.
I’m just another plant
Rooted to my spot.
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