Silent Gardener

Of all these things taking shape

an image of man

erased from death,

no longer

enclosed in the war to define the self,

a gardener,

now content

to quietly fold joy into the fields,

earth in hand,

a foreign messenger

born on the farther side of what we know,

who speaks in silent tones,

whose daisies thrive in winter,

his words - found in the sluff,

whose fruit brings an end to all sorrow.

Though the world doesn’t see,

we light candles at his feet

and watch carefully his seasons.