I potter, poke and prod
in my garden to create
an eden apart from this
human world that rushes and
moves and shakes the earth,
and builds the new so urgently
over the graves of the cracking old.
But alas my garden, with
all its still and luscious green
and popping colours against the
blue of the timeless sky, is also sewn
to this world, and will itself,
like my ashen grey bones, be part
of the cosmic grave that opens up from
the ever moving earthly change
and the human drive to claim it all.