All the branches are old <br />In this garden of trees <br />Nowhere futures to hold <br />In uncertainty of guaranty <br />Grass grows always dark <br />In the wonderment of diffuse <br />Creditability is its spark <br />Filling tongues with its clues <br /> <br />Pure as moments of gleam <br />Every worth conquered <br />Nothing is what it seem <br />Between lines be awarded <br />Fancy hold passing outside <br />Architecture of open space <br />Silences in their ride <br />With their many knotting lace <br /> <br />The hour is becoming old <br />With earth in music reflection <br />Shadows that a day can't hold <br />Every occurrence selection <br />Voices low to answered wind <br />Where it comes - where it goes <br />Disciplined and thick-skinned <br />To and fro to the ears flows <br /> <br />Dedicated to Octavio Paz<br /><br />Peter S. Quinn<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-dark-garden/
