The Gate

Clusters of lavender bells on the branch Press gently against the small window screen.

Their silent pealing calls me to walk among them. Nearby plump mangos fall heavily from bent branches And crash through dry twigs to thump on coarse grasses. A caramel cat stalks through whispering fronds Of stunted palm and cicada.

Parched vines send thin tendrils snaking round slowly The unsuspecting rafters.

Small red flowers among the green ivy

Lay siege to peeling walls and overwhelm them.

I stoop to pass beneath the brambled archway And open my gate on the hot afternoon.

Reasonable men are asleep in their labyrinths Of dead walls that shutter out empathy.

The souless streets dance and shimmer, a long mirage Stretching all the way to Samaria.

And when I weigh this day against All the yesterdays and all tomorrows,

I think it was a blessed day For I almost didn't think of you.