by Hathaway Barry
Some times when the world is too much
and my clicking mind is tired of clicking,
I go into the garden, kneel down beside the
green beans, and into that empty space
between the six teepeed bamboo poles,
I put my head.
Under the guise of picking green beans
(and being, therefore, useful)
I burrow my way in among the large leaves,
dangling pods, and slender, tendriled vines.
I am not hunting green beans.
I am not scouting snails or earwigs.
At this point, I have lost all interest
in the daily drama of eating and being eaten.
I am seeking refuge. A few moments’ leave
in the peace of plants. Green creatures
who know more than something about doing nothing
well. I breathe deep that vegetabley scent.
Unasked, their simple lightdriven bodies
turn my used breath to fresh air
and offer it
Is this love?
© 2007, Hathaway Barry
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