Tonight, I will sleep in the garden
Buried under rocks and sand
A man will come with a rake every now and then
To carve lines into my body
And he will say
“The flowers are sweet today.”
At night when the lights are quiet
The moon like a sea shell washed ashore by a tide of stars
I will creep out, blossoming, coaxed by succulent breezes and
You.
Your hair coarse like sand and skin softened by years of salt and nibbling fish
Your hands made of black ink from the octopus
Your sea-glass eyes, blind like water
Where I see myself and you see
Nothing.
In the gunmetal morning, with fog for breath and city walls for hands
You will bury me again
Under the rocks and sand
And the man will come back with his rake and wonder
At the new lines
And he will say
“The flowers are sweet today.”
The Z-Axis 
Beautiful!
Thank you 🙂
I love many images here but the man with the rake (and his reappearance) is my favorite
Thanks for saying so, Dad 🙂
What is a poem? To me, it’s a personal message from the poet to their readers, that differs for every reader, and probably for the poet too.
Many messages in here, Amira, many.
Charles, I’m glad you think so. I’d be interested to know which messages stood out most strongly to you.