Gift

The untended garden,
an unintended garden -
sentiment on mismatched sheets,
clipped together.
Ardour in plainness;
I leave you
my outgrowth -
all of it.

This that bloomed about me,
without me -
this feather that still grows a fan;
the bout
is all yours,
yours, yours.

Half a violin; the black key
that flows -
the accidental colour
that is always getting deeper -
I leave you lucid blood
and a swinging door...
...to churn into love
that which is more
than love.