Today I wandered my garden path
dreaming of a rose,
lush, long-stemmed and supple,
and smiling brightly in the sunshine.
Not any rose but one exotic
who shakes her hair in the gentle breezes
of warm-armed lowlands
until the cold winds
from the northern oceans blow.
Only then does she lower her gaze
from the sun-kissed heavens
as blue skies turn to iron.
Long I sought this rare delight
in my mundane garden:
hope against hope
dream against dream.
Only pale petals and sharp thorns
greeted me at my doorstep.
Carefully I picked a bloom
and its sweet scent stifled my breath
as I smelled that other rose,
dreaming in the bottom lands,
thornless and boundless in her gifts.
Slowly I plucked the petals
watching them flutter to the ground.
I reach for another to build my bed
surrounded by her scent.

from The Lost Sailor. 22.07.2008