Gardener's Birthday

May the echo of the woods inform
Our noisy city nights,
The mirror of your eyes return
My darkened face to light,
Find out forests in the shadow
Of the streetlamp’s metal glow,
The boomerang of traffic in the dark,
As far as New York sidewalks go.
Neon makes our bodies stark,
That turn to flesh in morning sun
When the tricks of daylight come.

But at the pivot point of year,
The fulcrum where the seasons flow
Apart to make their purpose clear,
And seedling issues of the day
Mantle in the leaves of night
Our living tissue, as the slight,
Depressing fall from grace
Of forest canopy will save
The new year’s crop, we realize:
Without a year, a life would stop;
What we insulate with last year’s hay,
What we keep from light, will stay,
Our answer to the echo of the eye
In woods, in streets, in white
Paint portraits of the blinded night:

May this darker season hide the sky,
The light, the time, just long enough
For them to make a forest in it—
To make a life by making minutes.

December 26th, 2004
Tippet Alley