Return to the Garden

The sky is blue velvet the moon is bone white
In the midnight garden where the dead things sprout
In darkness so dark the cobweb clouds seem bright
An opossum questions with a pointed snout
The surprise of eyes glinting in grey ghost light

Some small and stealthy silver blue stars roll out
Though upside down and backward ready and right
Were it not so mesmerizing I might shout
That I hear ancient voices breathe on the breeze
This could be a night to remember no doubt

Lost things are found on blue velvet nights like these
Where the dead things sprout beneath branches laid bare
By unforgiving time's bone white memories
In skeletal trees sighing softly to me:
"Return to the garden (and wait for me there)"

Should you care to join me perhaps we could be
Alone as our own Adam and Eve to see
Secrets which have never been meant to be seen
Where the dead things sprout nowhere yet everywhere
The Eve to my Adam will know what I mean

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVII

Pure delight, in a sober and reflective sort of way. Your sprouts blossom as my own find the seed coats hard to crack. I have a life of pensiveness, waiting for the next penstrokes of your endless masterpiece.

My dear, dear friend, your words of encouragement keep me alive.

Truly and honestly, they--and you who speak these words to me--keep me alive.

This poetry of mine has evolved into that for which I will be remembered, and the older I get the more important it becomes that it mean something to someone; that it means something to you means everything to me.

Thank you with all my heart.

Love across the sea from me,

+Stevie