Repris sur le jardin

I fear my explanations
poisoned at the nub
speak with such lips
to my misfortunate one-
take care of me, take care of me
though you’ll never know how-
I’ll take care of me,
before the round becomes spiked
with the thorns she grew;
mine never shed the forest floor.
I fear my explanations
are dreams I can’t amount to
are themes without war
and therefore no reasons to stand for.
I’ve got a body in water
whilst my own mixes in,
skinny fingers are like toys
grabbing baby face
searching for the things to destroy.
Take care of me, I’m in the garden again.

et.

Elle chante pour les libellules.
Counting flowers.