the garden

by Karyn Huntting Peters

if i should return upon a morning’s pink dawn
to our secret garden to sit beneath the shady palm
and feel the wet moss slide between my toes
and if my love should not be there to sit beside me

if i should walk among the purple flowers
inhale their heady perfume, drink of their opening beauty,
and caress their soft petals in remembering
and if my love should not lay with me in fields of violet

if i should pluck the perfect ripened fruit
squeeze it longingly to my naked breast until it weeps
and feel its nectar as it drips slowly down
and if my love should not drink of me to quench his thirst

then i should carve the name of fate into our palm
and lie prostrate in its nightshade at day’s end
gaze in grave face upon the stars and their cruel gift of desire
and bid my soul eternal rest without my love’s sweet kiss