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World Gardens ©

Nat Hall
Sandwick, Shetland
2004

All the gardens from the world
do not resemble each other;
I crucified my soul
in the core of this Earth...
I burnt my sarkest dawns
in bitter abysses;
our hearts drown and melt
down in rhythm with
our steps.

...And whatever aphids may say,
I'm left unafraid of
your rose (!)
in alleys of our world,
ephemeral fears roam...
hawthorn is a shadow,
blackens so hard
in hell;
juxtaposing our dreads
walled beyond all our dreams.

All the ropes of the world
entangled between masts -
and whatever breakers may scream,
your breeze deafens
our sea...
with spray in wild anger, voices
in a desert;
no one hears me shouting
at the top of Cape Wrath.

All carpets in the world remain
unrolled to me -
thistle not so vulgar to
the scent of your rose...
two hearts so intertwined, buried
in this silence;
your hands against my head -
my body in your arms.


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