Alpine


The Alpine in August
is a secret garden
high above the forest,
just below the sky
where walkers seldom go.

Where ancient twisted pines
bonsai
knee high
for a thousand years
still shepherd flocks
of tiny flowers
pink lilies, violet bells,
the size of hummingbird
boutonniers

(to even touch
is to destroy)

grouped and gathered
in stanzas of worship,
gardens within gardens
along graveled
white granite walks.

This wind
above every valley and tree
is gentle;
so also the song of alpine birds
and rivulets crystal
that emerge singing
from the glass clear
sanctuary
of still pools.

The heart is hushed.
We exclaim at the beauty
in whispers,
then not at all.

Our steps slow.

By reflected glory
we know--
we fear--
whose garden this is,
and who has just
been walking here........
By C. Van Gorkom