These Gardens of Miracles


Forgive me my presumptions dear lady
That I do strive for perfections
Inside my heart, I do desire truth
But my actions... well, I could improve

Fullness, completeness, gratifications
In our time supersede
Firmness, commodity and delight
Since our perceptions of spectral space
Shrink evermore into our own heads

A tunnel made of trees may well recede
The view to a point worthy of study
About the nature of an arching form
And the commonality of trunks and arms
And the violence of cutting parts off

The violence... of casual death
In our time, is called terror
We cannot control the itching trigger
The anger and hate that overwhelms
The delicacy of flesh and the senses

My dear countrymen, where are you all?
In your stupor at the loss of the soul
You go and blast ahead of the race
Reciting multiplication tables
If you do not sleep, you cannot dream

The roses, the jasmines and the wisteria
Go up and across the bare bones of steel
Artifice! but what perfumes and colour
Adorn the green fields of pristine views
Like those precious gems on your collar

My dear lady, I am but a little fool
Going round and round in circles
But what gifts have you thrust unto me
With the splendour of the Orcia valley?
Is this life or something better?

I plant trees that hug like a rugby scrum
It is me tumbling under the tentacles
Kick me if I displease your grace
As I deign to serve my princely master
Who commissions these Gardens of Miracles

Siena 19 4 2007