A warm summer night
is a garden
Beyond the creeping and mindless tendrils
The warm air is still,
Too old and confortable to stir
Under the transient excitements
Of a spring night's blustering youth.
So the warm air rests
And waits for stories to be told,
Timeless tales of love and death, victory and loss.
When the warm air is so calm
The old stories flow like
The very wine of blessedness.
Floating on this still air are the smells,
The smells of summer nights 10,000 years ago,
10,000 years to come.
No difference, no change.
No time can kill the jasmine
That signals the mysteries and memories
Of sex and poetry and a hundred other toys
That hide from daylight.
And above summer's timeless garden,
Her crescent blade reaping time for us,
Dividing the creeping ghost now
To be taken in like mana,
Our food in this garden
Of a warm summer night.