adventures in dysthymia

Friday, April 08, 2005

BAMBOO

Bamboo, like fences, makes good neighbors--
or maybe it just makes good fences.
Good honey, too, if you've a mind
to keep bees. I go to a stand
up the road for mine, of course.

Twelve canes I planted last Fall, along
the line, to hide what they would.
At least one has rooted. Someday,
I may regret the bamboo thicket
that will surely grow, persistent,
impenetrable, gold-green shafts
that hold the shadow and the sun, that whisper
wordless haiku to the wind.

For now, I just want it to screen
my neighbor, to make him a good
neighbor, yes, the kind with a fence,
to give me privacy when I
roam the house unencumbered
of clothes, come sweltering summer nights.

Come on, don't you do that?
Oh well, you do have family there
and your bamboo is neatly potted.
I would live in a grove, a forest,
if I could, shutting out
the world's eyes. I would dwell
there the way you dwell in my heart.

Stephen Brooke ©2005

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