Flowers bloom at night and throw off phantom darts of light
Living little opal stars and little phantom shimmers
A shadow with a watering can crept in to tend the garden
The soundless shade made its way as crickets all around
Chose their nighttime music and made their nighttime sound
Within the grove the shadow flowed and knelt before the moss
Shadow water sprinkled on the earthy forest bed
The thinnest grin above the trees
A secret joke
A sliver peeking in through a starry door
Shadow water sprinkled soundless on the mossy forest floor
Water drawn from a well, secluded on a hill
In the summer of the poet’s youth
Before he learned the poet’s truth
That life will never yield to Will
That life will never yield to Will
And that watering can held tightly in ghostly hand!
Where is it from, where has it been?
The shed by the house of the sleeping poet!
It sits there still on its shelf!
And he dreams in his bed as the moon overhead
Sheds light from a silver crescent
He dreams of the grove and the mound and the seed
It was watered that night with the water of need
