Monday, April 12, 2021

My only sin

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Nothing

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in my garden of chrysanthemum

can make me smile

not the clutch of winged Monarchs

perched on my rosals,

neither fishbones nor the trees

I had long since abandoned

the cello for leeches in the lawn

and for the din of infant years

For at the top of my voice

I can now desolate the young grass

while the last fanned fable of my only sin

lies peacefully on the night

my star fell from the sky

Who will forgive me

my one and true solace?

The boughs of the Dianthus

had died with the Amaranthus

without a just man’s prayer

and a moment’s care

The yellow Thrips

are in abundance

leaving me no sleep

Already October comes

and they say the Amaryllis

is boiling in brine–

the salt of my one and only crime

leaving me with the color of death

on my cheeks.

 

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