Independence Day

By Roy Dean Doughty
Written 7/4/08

Monocroping is no issue here, the yard
Being enveloped in a mishmash of wild
And cultivated foliage, which forms a
Bird and insect permeable, but otherwise
Impenetrable membrane around the property,
Affording the inhabitants a quiet enclave
Of privacy and joy. Pitasporum, several
Varieties of ivy, pear, plum, rose briers,
Alders, tallow, ligustrum, even bamboo
Baffle the incoming commotion
Of the neighborhood, so that a filtered
Language of light and sound saturates
This vivarium with the euphonious
Embossings of children’s laughter,
Bird song and insect stridulation —
Such a hullabaloo of flyby talk
From the gods and goddess of health
And change that happiness is injected
Directly into the senses, as though upon
The grounds of a medieval palace
A peacock’s cry had brought us the news
Of the day, saying, in the that wondrous
Human-inhuman-baby-whistle:
“This is the place to live.” Any inadvertent
Re-entry, say, just strolling out of the house,
Pollinates the spirit, not only with the step
By step linkages of nature, but also with
The more dissociative boundings of the imagination,
The vegetation becoming cunningly figured columns
Of wild agate and wilder jade,
Whose intricacies announce from the blues
And gold of a supreme artisan:
“I am the queen of life, the maker of worlds,”
Her message threading the mazes of the hedges,
Easily, lightly, briskly,
Just as it does the mazes of our hearts.

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