I walk in utopian gardens in the summer dusk
The wind is painted with lavender and leaning jasmine flowers
And the musk of mimosas, so fresh in my memory
...Is from a bottle of cheap perfume, tinted a pale, petulant green
That I'd bought one cold fall afternoon
Excited by the affluent promise of a steady paycheck
I have never seen a mimosa, never tasted its natural aroma
Rife and alive in a nose experienced, travelled, aware and appreciative
But I dream of them, dream of an image conjured of wistfullness
Are they a flower, a herb, are they green or white or the impossible purple
Of the poisoned petals from a once favourite fiction story
I want to see one, before I turn it artificial from dictionary photographs.
I walk in utopian gardens painted into my conscience by the neglected summer dusks
Of steaming instant coffee cups and paper cuts and the insistent yell
Of fabricated lines of code
I walk in utopian gardens teeming with silky-petalled rainbows
That in my dreams I promise myself I will one day see
And plant and seed and sow
And care for with the tender love of a woman at peace with herself
At peace with the world and the pain and the tears of pubescent youths
That will never see a desk, and have the opportunity loathe it.