to grow a thyme

you look for that rhythmic signature
while taking in the tantric ebb of all
the patterns that twirl in an offering
bridled to the sparkly whites bared lay
ever the more the silver twinkles that find it 
within the tapping of the rain on the tin roof
the way the shadow eights over its own pattern
through the course of the year the same garden
you look to see because you love life
and you will fight for it
it is night time
the air over your thyme
slowly drifts
watch it beg the moist air
it does it with a soft chant
listen to it summon fog 
into the air
do you see now the mist rising?

the rain drops softly tap at your tin roof
shadows still in eights fly
day by day during the months
you watch them
go on by
you notice them at night 
once you found something rhythmic to latch onto
anchoring into some kind of bay
like comfort
is a wonderful thing
especially when you are a campaigner
plotting everything
you know
because it all goes to plan
and it is totally worth it
but now it is quiet and you have come home
once again by the same old pattern you know
takes itself on once the same rain
hits your same little tin roof

in comfort then i see you standing there naked
i watch you get dressed
it all seems so timeless
always the same eights repeated twice
but that is all ok
is that not what we tell ourselves?
i would think to myself that i love you
that there is no time to say
to get by quickly and remember
yesterday
like it had hope yet in the time we fly
of all the kinds of herbs we grow
in our grove-like little gardens
where some break like sponges
in crystal margins
but then again 
i would love for you to take a look and see
the little bit of thyme you planted over there
you see it is growing still
as you hoped it always will
it is not at all so visceral
enough until you have to go
thyme to grow

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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