the blindthe gardensthe blind by sumarlegur
stretch their green arms toward the fields
like a river passing the torch
to the great blue of the ocean.
steady now, the hyacinths lean north
like an army of men, listening
to a young boy and girl speaking of love
as if they have found some sort of treasure.
it is the first day of spring to them:
the flowers stand, salute the sky,
and blossom as if undressing,
vulnerable but stern.
and as the blind dream
of what they have never seen, you dream
of what you have never allowed yourself to see.