Garden

He entered the garden of the past,
my friend, deceived by his own ghosts

Poised to be touched by a sad gaze, his dreams,
collapsed under a tree, asleep

Strolling through the uncut grass,
separating nothing from nothing
a voice entered him, like
a new medicine, piercing through his ribs, reaching
every darkened room

On witnessing himself dissolve, gradually
A thousand starlings took off from the tree, carrying
bits of visions across the sky
Sprinkling the mind with scores of beauty

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