Leonard Kress


They'd done the impossible, reentered the garden,
somehow slipped beneath the guard's threatening scimitar,
scanning eyes, listening device, streaming video,
and greed for bounty, heretofore impenetrable.
I'd like to think the perfect trope is what got them through,
the narrow gap between the vehicle and tenor,
needle's eye, suspended moment between said and meant
and they parted the willow locks and dove right into
the spring-fed pond, draping their clothes on the elm branch, split
from the trunk by lightning for this purpose, floating and
washing each other in the wavering grid of light,
which a Florentine Master might employ to fix the
proportions and idealized gestures of paradise.