The Sundial in the Garden
The Sundial in the Garden The Sundial in the Garden —after afternoons unwitnessed Beneath the cloisters' sighing shade, Where ivy grieves the stone, I stand where lovers softly laid Their secrets into bone. I, time’s obedient servant, stay— A brass throat kissed by sun— Yet no warm hand has turned my way, Nor touched the hours I run. Around me drift the springtime pairs, With hair like drifting flame; Their fingers write in midday airs What I could never name. A head upon a chest reclines, Their temples in duet; Their breath explores each other's spines— A pact the soul forgets. I mark each pulse. I hear the knee Brush softly against thigh. Their shadows curl around the tree As mine just points and dies. Their laughter, like a distant song, Spins circles in the air— Not unlike that endless wheel That winds the windmill’s stare. They trace the arches of the brow, The jawline's sacred bend. The lips are doors they enter now And I, outside, preten...