At dark-thirty in my greenhouse.

dark, but warm,
perhaps too. .
i leave the door open a little
to let some heat escape,
the green plants love the heat
and the Sun all day,
the quiet is ecstasy:
my eyes slowly adjust to the murk
and peace envelopes me
like some blanketed waif,
i am unto myself
with nowhere to do
and nothing to go:
i have escaped the hubbub, the press,
the push, squeeze and shove.

i am me,
let me be . . .

December 15, 1973