Waters of the Garden, The

DAVID MIDDLETON*

They foam upon those cups our hands create

That we might drink at evening while the stars

Awaken ancient cravings for a state

Marked by the empyrean's fiery bars.

Along the waters' edge unwithered figs

Teeming over the sedge in sweet oblation

Hide migrant swallows resting in the sprigs,

So tentative of purpose and of station

Until a music calls them down to drink

In twinkling streams by which we pipe in bliss

Attuned to Eden's reeds upon a brink

Whose winds are moving still in windlessness.

* David Middleton's next collection of verse, Beyond the Chandeleurs, is forthcoming from Louisiana State University Press in the fall of 1999.

Copyright Anglican Theological Review, Inc. Fall 1998
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