the garden
not really a garden
past the sunken stones
and that stump on the ground
and the tree you had to maneuver around
the gate
and the loosely tied rope on the corner
dirt piles reside in the center
the rusty shovel with the broken wooden handle
weathered bricks would lie surrounding
withering grass
and patches in the ground
where we made bow and arrows out of sticks
perimeters
decaying trees begin to crumble
caving in on themselves
and the pathway
nature creating its structure
rustling as i graze the withering leaves
swaying down to earth with each movement
each breath
head down heading deeper
broken glass
looking down
grape vine on the side ???
deeper
tinged nails rusted bricks broken wood
up now
the weathered down shed
green house
who owns you
the significance it holds
locked door
we threw pebbles at cracked windows
youthful fear held us from throwing bricks
i peered inside of the mystery it held
and it's wooden shelves
and it's dying plants
and it's hard to see through the cracks in the glass
decaying trees rustle
the dog made its way
sniffing out mischief
and curiosity
we never made it inside that shed
then they tore it down
and built a house there
the end :)
