Homily I

by Erik Reece

I enter this walled garden every day
to lecture baptisia and cornflower
on the perfect shade of blue

No one notices
I like this anonymous life
lived low to the ground among cucumber vines
and the modest bloom of wild ginger

What if the Unsayable
is always writing its autobiography
through these hollow bodies

these articulate limbs
that we perhaps inaccurately
call the self

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