breathing life into the garden

the exhalation of his breath
was like
a thin
grey
smoke

pallid

minute movements
of his lips
and great concentration
shaped directions

in the clear air
he saw a garden
in the exhaled mist
a row of flowers
white

behind them
he blew
a façade
of the happy house
that he recalled

another breath
another exhalation
and detail placed
kneeling
kneeling on the white lawn
tending

a familiar shape
the gardener
who had once made the flowers
grow
in so many different colours

his breath caught suddenly
he coughed
gently
then turned away

~

Poem #511 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

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