You sit in your garden but
Where am I?
You, there, surrounded and protected
By fauna and flora
As you swat at bees
And stomp on ants to cross the grass.
You laugh as you eat Light and
Make merry with companions.
I’m lost to that dream now.
It was not my choice
But an accident, unforeseen.
I was just as wanton and naive.
How little I knew of myself,
Or the sun, the rain, the stars,
Or of the end of time.
I was not ready to leave,
So here I am attached to cold stone
With you only in a haze, and
I cannot speak your name for
Lack of a translation.
Where am I but nowhere.
Who am I but no one.
Night is always; always is night.
I cling to the wall of night
With no release and no joy,
Not even you in your garden
Are ready to know me this way.
Not even lightning knows my name,
For it is a mere flicker to my rage.
I am blind in this abyss, stumbling
To find a guest in this forlorn place,
To find a slice of dawn in endless night, where
I am but a mortar to shadows
As you slumber in your garden.
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard
poetry and image (my garden)