I sit in the garden <br />of the Sunflower Cafe', <br />here in Sonoma, California, <br />listening to the slow <br />trickling of water from the womb <br />of the old, ceramic fountain, <br />as from a place before birth <br /> <br />on this springgreen, sunsmile <br />early April day, green fountain <br />of a date palm rising up <br />behind me, and slow trickle <br />of a few diners' voices swimming <br />lazy into the pool of sound, <br />and I think: <br /> <br />All my life <br />I have tried <br />to collect paradises <br />to make them last — to live <br />in the Garden and never leave — <br /> <br />like the time Ed came <br />into my little bedroom in Denver <br />as I was reading Rumi <br />upon a new Indian bedspread, <br />leaning on a Persian pillow, <br />music in the air and flowers <br />I'd picked myself in a big vase, <br /> <br />and speechless for a moment, <br />he finally said: <br />'It's like a <i>paradise</i> in here! ' <br /> <br />And I thought, that's <i>good</i>, <br />but he meant, I'm pretty sure, <br />that we have to face <br />the world as it is, <br /> <br />we can't escape <br />into paradises. <br /> <br />To be sure, <br />that one didn't last: <br />a few weeks later <br />I left Denver feeling homeless, <br />walking and howling in shadows, <br /> <br />but any time I can <br />I try again, <br />and some day I'll have paddled <br />up the rivers of life to the Source, <br />and will plant my flag in that Garden, <br />and never leave.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/collecting-paradises/
