Gardener

Charitable I walk around

with the harp of my rake

with scooping shovel

I send slugs

back to their saunas

chace wood lice

escalator up

                   escalator down

into the basement-

departments of their shadowy

emporiums

Because I'm on earth  for this purpose

to sculpture out of light

with hoe, with garden-shears, with fork

flower beds, lawns, arbours

museums for the wind

tolerant stillnesses

as if suddenly

from the darkeness of my pond,

prince Frog plunges

a sound aged with peace...very short

in this poem of a gardener

in Holland, late 20th century