in a sculpture garden

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︎︎︎ Ian Gwin

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︎ Sept 3, 2025

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heavens rip over manor house remains
and gusts ripple the surface of Raadi lake
ducks nestle in rows on the dock
while crows flock from the pines

how long shadows carry matter heavy
with the burden of meaning
eyes closed, lips cleft in granite
one exhausted lies within a circle of stones
relative to hardness—their figures
no longer tempted by form

even the pose, carved into space
of the blacksmith's hard shoulders
in sparkling granite under blue
puts heavy arms to rest

I curve the path in the stern gaze of the roadworker
his bent brow unsurpassable
by the bear on its tiny haunches

here, the painter's sallow cheeks
and close-cropped hair, even
the sculptor's sneer is a relic
that understands no other being
yet warms by the sun

and in the valley of women
sky framed in a stucco arch
worry at the barrier gate
remains ensconced in mottled waves

one abandoned, head in arms
knees to shoulders takes herself
worry in her own endurance
aborted from the saint's communion

another reclining with legs crossed
raises her arm over her shoulders
as though to all this indifferent
on buses, street cars, country stops
I have witnessed her too

seated, strong thighs in support
arm behind her back, ready, listening
with the roundness of a vase beside
her head, heavy seal of the lips
although in the Pygmalion hollow
I note growing cobwebs

billowing cloudstreams rave above
and the marsh stirs—yellow aster
in the reeds and floating pollen

across crooked steps by the chessboard gazebo
Romeo presses hands to Juliet
relieved from decay into a knife-etched
cusp of cracked white
with open lips, in concrete sleep
they gather moss before the silver gleam

a curious dog appears
and a woman with children
a photographer and a nuptial couple

to walk the path of forgetting
under arbors of oblivion

i leave as the first yellow leaves
cling to wind-bent branches
maybe paradise acquires
perfection only after