(After “Villanelle for an Anniversary,” by Seamus Heaney)
A spirit moved. The gardener walked the yard.
The mountain had been carved, the boulders massed.
His shovel rusted, and the ground lay hard.
Streams sighed in secret. Nothing stirred.
Bamboo stood in silence, guarding past.
A spirit moved, the gardener walked the yard.
Before the willow wept, before time blurred,
in small morning hours, he’d found rest.
His shovel rusted, and the ground lay hard.
Night passage of a snow white bird.
Wingflap. Pond drifts and ripples in the gust.
A spirit moves, the gardener walks the yard.
Was that his soul sped by the southern star?
A comet, bearing witness he had passed?
His shovel rusted, and the ground lay hard.
Begin again, and grow it with your heart.
The garden survived time. See—it’s not lost.
A spirit moves. The gardener walks the yard—
a shovel waits, and the gate’s unbarred.
*Dedicated to Peter Jones and Bill Teague
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