Already
“How old is my ghost? How old is my ghost?” — Peter Redgrove
I’m leaving here tomorrow—and already
(untroubled by this human weather passing)
I hear the garden growing on behind me;
the pond disturbed, but only by the eddy
of circling fish—a slight, bright splashing.
I’m leaving here tomorrow—and already
such casual music can’t help but remind me
how little of myself I leave that’s lasting
in this garden I feel growing on behind me.
An unseen wind is rising, growing steady,
while overhead dark, gentle clouds are massing.
I’m leaving here tomorrow. Look! Already
rain’s ready to erase (so none can find me)
all trace of tracks upon the ground. I’m asking:
in this garden I feel growing on behind me
how many times have rain and wind refined these
melting backward glances, this light grasping?
I’m leaving here tomorrow—and already
I hear this garden growing on behind me.
(Petulu, Bali—1997)
From Autumn Sky Poetry 16 — by R. Nemo Hill
Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim
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