Eden

In this country, nature is green on green.
In mine, green grows out of ochre, fawn, dun —
what are the colours of dust? Caught between
fruit trees, what are they but shifts of the sun?

In this country, grass and tree are implicit
in each other, as in water. In mine,
dust and tree are awkward friends who elicit
only the same blessings at the same shrine.

But it's dust that deepens shadows, the tree
that plays on colours watermarked by shade.
When shade is deep as water, roots drink deeply,
and drinking from the same pool, friends are made.

If only we were dust and tree. My children,
grown from my poor soil. I imagined Eden.

Copyright © 2003 Mimi Khalvati All rights reserved
from Rattapallax
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission