Point Argument light house:
ostrich-tall in an English garden. How
well might we in all honesty wish
every cottage had such warnings
rudely spinning enlightenment in
contention’s face. Even in Alaska,
robust in chilly silence, such
an anchorage of good sense might
zap into the fray, a beam of good will.
Yonder cottage is alight with golden aura
sunny within, while looming thunder
ensnares the countryside.
Nowhere here does threat intrude upon
interiors. In the shadow of all that stone
outside, flowers bloom along the cliff. Inviting
ramblers weave the walkway fence, a thorned tether,
glimpse of domesticity. Primeval must undergo
early on a cultivation, to peace itself into this ennui,
nosegay of serenity… what hardly looks a prison.
Either we argue agreeably or evade
risking discord altogether… so this
admonition lasered past the reefs would augury.
Look on what grows in such a garden: should we de-jazz
the clash of opposing paths, syncopate Golgotha,
harmonize nettle despite its occasional boon? Whatever
acrimony takes–no matter how pyrotechnic,
neurotic, or just plain seismic–its fertilizer
spurts a new bud we might otherwise
have never seen. Consider then how,
while we rhapsodize in this garden limbo,
ease also has its upkeep.