friend poetry

i walk down the garden paths
i cannot always feel his greatness
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
she must go back, she said
you say you love me
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
if the red slayer think he slays
mysterious night
do i like it
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
i saw god. do you doubt it?
love has been sung a thousand ways
my mother taught me that every night
from floor to ceiling