Here in this cloistered garden

[pjthompson]

From the notebooks, June 16, 1992:




Here in the cloistered garden
leaves shush with the whispers
of angels, the divine laughs
in the water of the fountain.

My sounds are lost in this quiet
whirlwind; my words like pebbles
dropped into a pool.

I ask for things, while the voices
are their own selves, unconcerned
if anyone is listening.