We conjure a garden of
tendriled and well-leafed
realities. Deep is the soil
of time when we sprinkle
our plans like crystals of blue
fertilizer. But most futures die;
we can water and sun only one.
That Didn’t Happen, Did It?
We conjure a garden of
tendriled and well-leafed
realities. Deep is the soil
of time when we sprinkle
our plans like crystals of blue
fertilizer. But most futures die;
we can water and sun only one.
The Writing of John B. Randall 