I often lose myself in the garden
weeding's the best
from lost I may snap back to ' I wonder where I am?'
but I won't synapse my head to the vertical grid 
or even secretly look for an activity 
which by observation and finding out stuff 
could then be called intelligence 
you know, a hint of perpendicularity here, obtusity there
neither straight up or obtrusive 
         
I like to stay just right where I am 
         
and watch as the unfamiliar becomes familiar 
by the smallest gradients of colour and light 
and points of view and angles and shadows and dampness 
and smells and textures and touch and sounds
         
the beacons must magnify or diminish their relationships 
amongst themselves by beautifully unpredicted degrees 
accordingly as any viewpoint happens to change position
         
and in wind, camouflage melts and remakes 
and melts and recreates and melts again from integrity to fluidity
its colours never really disappearing in mergers and alliances
and viewpoints can but become humble and grateful

the curvature of the land, the contours, the hypothenuse, led me to a place 
and after doing what I was doing for no time 
I snapped back and became someone 
severely wrestling with the root of a blackberry 
a nodule of which I had between the fingers of one 
hand, arm, shoulder and cortex 
like I was starting a victa, and I was pulling hard 
at the same time being wrestled by a rose tree who
despite her pink petals floating prettily
to what turns out to be the ground
had me by the neck
for bearings, sleeves; for compass, traffic; I was tugging at a blackberry 
and being strangled by a rose!
         
but I wouldn't look up
I did think to acquire an implement at some stage 
which might assist in finding the root of all blackberry roots 
but that was a bit flighty for the moment 
so I gently redisentangled all my faculties 
and became dean of april studies
         
         copyright 2003 robbo
australia's most tangled poet