haunted hay rides in massachusettes
Off to Santa Fe

The Garden

The Garden
by Frederico Garcia Lorca

Was never born, never,
but could burst into life.

Every moment it's
deepened, restored.

Every moment it opens new
unheard-of pathways.

Over here! over there!
See my multiple bodies

passing through pueblos
or asleep in the ocean?

Everything open! Locks
to fit every key.

But the sun & moon
lose & delude us.

And under our feet
the highways are tangled.

Here I'll mull over all
I once could have been.

God or beggar,
water or old marguerite.

My multiple paths
barely stained

now form this enormous rose
encircling my body.

Like an impossible map
the garden of the possible

every moment is
deepened, restored.

Was never born, never,
but could burst into life.

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