portum, spes et
fortuna valete, sat me
garden is complete and spacious.
A portal onto the tumult
of space. I race
over the roses and quills of
lavender. I trace the sun
on the wall. The descent
to the sea is chalk
and below the water, desire
in jugs tips over.
The dead head on the white
glaze spoils every path of flesh.
have created two marvelous gardens. One of them is for
contemplation. It is full of shade and dedicated to Apollo.
It overhangs the riverbed and finally looses itself in rocky
outcrops where only birds can go. (Petrarch)
birds can go there.
Apollo with his little
visor and cock
spurts water into the collapsing air.
On a dare
I looked up into the bandoliers of trees
and saw him all arranged in white
like a poor comfort
torment the flight of a barn swallow.
botanist's magnifying glass gives back to the botanist
the magnifying gaze of a child. With this he can enter the
garden hidden in the garden. (G. Baselard)
a contrivance so delectable ...
(Dear me.) its mechanical glaze ...
the pins, joints, gears
It begins to move.
It comes round like a demon.
There were battle axes held
by bees, all building
layer upon layer, the gossamer,the cool
steel wings, the construction, the flower,
the flower, altitudes of flower with no
horizon in sight.
gardens reflected the face of man in a symmetry of width rather than
height or depth.
is no face
but symmetry only.
From the height of the forehead
to belly, then to the
ankle, the shaft of man's face
is interspersed with
dark fields. It is that
which is seen in the hand held before