Light seemed biodegradable, like the gardens that blossomed along the street
And at each front door darkness embraced me
And invited me into further its oblivion
The more the flowers blossomed in the row of gardens along the street
The worse my fear of surrounding eternity became
The worse I feared that existence was to be taken away
Not that I feared for myself but I feared for this row of gardens
These cultivated ornamental front gardens along this mortal street
This depression gave me insight; illness validated the vision
The thought of those innocent gardens being no more
That their deaths were written in time
That they were as mortal as the gardeners who planted them
The knowledge that the darkness that would overtake them
That a spade would come and ready the earth for death
