My father‘s garden

Reston, Schipol,
transatlantic flight 2010

I’ve no ambition when I come back from afar
I only want to sleep and hold you in my arms
And sink into my father‘s garden
And sleep ‘til everything’s forgotten.

You’re deeply in your books, carrying your charge
Captive & captivated by Russian writers‘ yarns.
And I will sink into my father‘s garden
And sink ‘til everything‘s forgotten.

It’s far too late, far too late
For God and all his charms.
It’s far too late, far too late
To hold you in these arms.

Entropy‘s arrow we follow fast
Everyone integrated in elegant math.
And everything plays to a plan
When I’m quiet I can almost understand.

But it’s far too late
For God and all his charms.
Sinking in, sinking in
And everything is what we made
And cannot make again.

You will walk with your husbands in the park
The Russian writers tucked under your arm.
And I’ll sink in the garden
In contempt and contemplation

Sink in the garden in some dire meditation
Sink in my father‘s garden gone
With God and all his charms.

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