Secret Garden

If no one loves her

Please, love you 

Even if she’s a wreckage 

Worn by age

Dying to turn the page

Or lost, in a predetermined path

Or bleeding, from a predestined bloodbath

Or healing, in the bloody aftermath

Or broken, by a perfect love 

Or falling, like a dove

Or crashing, from above

Or bruised, by your sacrificial loneliness

Or moved, by your superficial kindness

Or torn, by your artificial blindness

Please, build her 

Even when you have no stone

Or judge her abysmal tombstone 

Or repudiate her only cornerstone

Or her nothingness collapses your desire 

Or her eyes rains ice on your fire

Or her chorus deafens your choir

Water her azalea 

From dawn to Australia

Dress her in love’s aching regalia

Out of frozen concrete 

In the desert where broken hearts meet

Wash her crooked feet

Ignoring her searing fossil

Like Jesus for the apostles

From sublime bottles 

No one full ever knew how to fill.