And Now Let Us Go Into The Garden

by Helene Swarts

Light, like spilled milk, spreads
near our feet making little

Soon the moon
will bring another cast.
Come, let us go
into the garden where soft light
washes the aster.

It is almost evening.
Moist leaves, fat as lungs, turn
toward the wane.

Nothing not even the dark
will cover
what we have done here.