Place

But where shall wisdom be found? 
 And where is the place of understanding?
 – Job 28: 12
  
 This garden breathes
 as sunset strokes the goldenrod and slides away.
  
 This place has known 
 the touch of raindrop, breeze and gale, 
 the sudden chill when crows call clouds –
 the warmth when they disperse –
 the breath of ghosts when breezes fail;
  
 has felt the weight of ice
 diminish, leaving
 crumbled stone, 
 then heath, then grass, then trees;
  
 has witnessed deer 
 then sheep, then horses graze,
 lawns displace fields, 
 roads lead where paths once led, 
 to bivouacs, then barns, then homes; 
  
 has heard the sound of children’s games, 
 of disputes, clashes, laughter,
 campfires, kitchens, idling cars;
 the quieter tones of love and tears,
 and parents pointing out the stars;
  
 has stood its ground,
 as shadows marked the years and seasons by 
 the way they fell, 
 and waned or grew,
 and when and where 
 they travelled from and to;
  
 and now, as fading summer falls
 on rose, anemone and goldenrod –
 the gardener’s pride –
 if asked to weigh the worth of all it’s held,
 this gentle place would likely say
 it could not tell. 



First published in Poetry Salzburg Review no 34.