All We Want Is Right Here

Poetry and song committed to the love one fosters in the garden, stated best by Bly:

There is death but there is also this closeness…

Lantanas wept in white

Like frozen stars 
whose arms 
became tendrils 
in the emptiness 
of space

it called to me
creaking 
this small temple 
of bones 
that glowed
against the black 
soil
nearly blown
apart 
by the wind 

do you remember
my petals
or the flowers 
I held 
in my branches 

do you remember 
those winged travelers
that came 
in the summer

the red-throated 
hummingbird,
the sun-colored bee,
and the monarch 
that came down 
just to see me

do you think 
they'll visit
next year 
when all I am
are naked branches

or will they think
I'm an urchin 
cast out 
from the sea

---

Brother Rob’s pineapple plant, who died and left their kids behind

Twins

The pineapple died 
in the summer heat, 
but two heads looked up 
from beneath her tired wings. 
Timid, small, and emerald-crowned,
their hands reached out 
from under their mother's shade 
and begged the sky for rain. 

No sky am I, but I crouched down
to give them drink. 
From the mouth of a watering can,
something like rain.
From their mother's withered arms,
a quiet stream.

---

Song, All We Want Is Right Here, is edit of Spellling’s Awaken and features the ending of Robert Bly’s reading of his poem A Cry Going Out Over Pastures

A more thorough post on the garden

On lust and the perversion of the garden