“The Death Issue” December 2015 1

Not that I saw Him arrive or leave,
But the old house lost its dead vacancy
And dandelion orbs waltzed through and about
The gaunt corridors like slow woodland ghosts
Until the sun fell faint on the grass
And the crescent moon burned softly
Like a scythe on the hollows.
Through that coming of darken hours
The wind played notes of starlight and elm
As the Garden Man changed in moon-shade,
For the woodland called and He grew faint.
On the garden, in the cottage,
There hummed but His whisper.
II:
Morning spiralled out from the flower heads
And he who had touched the garden was gone
And He of the deep meadow woods was a dream;
Back through the forest He must have flown.
The Garden Man comes and the Garden Man goes.
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