'What have we done with the garden that was entrusted to us?'

The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

'In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses.'

'I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.'

'Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.'

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
'What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?' 

​Antonia Machado

photo found on the web

I heard it last night read by Robert Bly on a screen in Devon, UK.  My heart jolted, squeaked like a strangled dragon.  I am so sick of this business as usual, of this being a tourist in life.  I dream agitatedly of gatherings of Poets and Artists remembering what is means and doing their/our work of stopping brutality and protecting Life.

I long to seat in council with you and cry and cry out and make and make out the world of our longing!

In grief and gratitude xx Azul