Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Number Three

When we enter the garden, the place we sought of belonging and peace, the light comes from a certain angle of the sun.  As the sun moves, the shadows lengthen.  Each face is caught in darkness and light.

The garden changes, becoming lonely and then hidden.  Dangerous.  The place we sought becomes the place we run from.  It is the same place.  It is the garden of day and night.

The person we loved becomes the person we leave. It is the same person.  The place that felt home becomes, in every room, a cue for regret.  For the surprising bitterness when the sun changes, and all that was there, and was expected to go on, turns dark.

In the garden of day and night we cling to the day and lose it.  Then the dark seems everything there is.

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