In the Garden of My Soul

In the garden of my soul there fell a seed wondrous smooth and dark as evening’s shadow from which emerged a tree tentative its stem twisting uncertain from the soil as a lover estranged contriving an oblique path to bliss unassuming seeming yet in every subtle arc and incline betraying desire by apprehension its bark was gray as dawn concealing colors dimly recalled of a forest perhaps or the creatures within subdued, but of a sudden illumined stark inspired for a moment to endure exposure’s hazard lest their beauty rest unrealized unto death in fear’s embrace and so it was intrigued by these discreet shades of delight I stayed the instinct that bade me cut this curious guest before it deprive all plants cultivated by slow discipline of nourishment thus intact from infancy it passed until mature its roots entwined with every cherished flower and sweet-smelling herb it issued forth a blossom purple as melancholy as it touches solitude’s warmth and is rendered akin to joy too gentle to endure it yielded swift to fruit its surface saffron its flesh red and seeming in its succulence to entertain all contradictory moods suggesting rose and berry and lavender and peach their certainty contaminated but through intimacy grown vivid as melodies may by contact resonate in opposition and in this way I was enriched by eating of the tree’s blessing born of doubt though through its flourishing thence my garden has become a place most strange transformed by lust untempered into the home of myriad beasts and briers possessed of claw and thorn that rend and streams that flood and fungi that rise silent from the wetness over night and deep where no thought penetrates a seed awaiting propagation dark perhaps and wondrous smooth