We hardly noticed
the old magnolia
dutifully pushing
its hard buds into February.
The cold mornings
distracted us,
firmed our purpose,
as if our repetitions kept us warm.
And so we forgot
there was a time
before this garden was planted,
or any garden;
or any road –
Station Road, Church Street, Green Lane –
there was a time
before this garden was planted,
or any garden;
a time
before this road was named,or any road –
Station Road, Church Street, Green Lane –
before terraces, and houses,
and households,
before doors, fences, rumors, hints and kisses,
before trouble, and taxes, and dishes.
There was a time
before there was a word for humans,
before words,
before anything ever got straightened out,
before any good,
before there was a word for humans,
before words,
or humans,
before love, hate, hope, doubt,before anything ever got straightened out,
before any good,
or not-so-good,
before anyone had any need for God.There was a time
before days became ages,
before Saturdays, or Holy Days,
or hallucinations of Angels.
There was a time,
millennia
before thinking made it so.
millennia
of millennia ago,
before we forgot to remember:before thinking made it so.
Even then,
you welcomed the spring,
before any bees or blossom
on the trees.
Ancient, old magnolia,
though cold the start and hard the hour,
intractable comes
Spring’s first bud and earth’s first flower.
