Flowers bloom at night and throw off phantom darts of light 
 Living little opal stars and little phantom shimmers 
 shadow with a watering can crept in to tend the garden 

 The soundless shade made its way as crickets all around 
 Chose their nighttime music and made their nighttime sound 
 Within the grove the shadow flowed and knelt before the moss 

 Shadow water sprinkled on the earthy forest bed 
 The thinnest grin above the trees 
 secret joke 
 sliver peeking in through a starry door 
 Shadow water sprinkled soundless on the mossy forest floor 
 Water drawn from a well, secluded on a hill 
 In the summer of the poet’s youth 
 Before he learned the poet’s [bad word] 
 That life will never yield to Will 
 That life will never yield to Will 

 And that watering can held tightly in ghostly hand! 
 Where is it from, where has it been? 
 The shed by the house of the sleeping poet! 
 It sits there still on its shelf! 

 And he dreams in his bed as the moon overhead 
 Sheds light from a silver crescent 
 He dreams of the grove and the mound and the seed 
 It was watered that night with the water of need