although i'm partial to the use of rhyme,
and from time to time i like to wander, i think timing is key,
the tick tock stick of words in my teeth,
smacking red gums chewing asynchronous chomps chipped from dead leaves
wound around the pointed head of the painted fountain,
the snapping rhythm of water slapping the backs of frozen green fish
who thrash the still life scene until peacocks preen their fans
and plead beside the borderline bougainvillea hedges
gripping rusted wrought iron gates.
missteps and breaks are made walking alone
along the split asphalt path under top-heavy century trees
lean willow leaves stroke the constant clear skin of the low avon
running in slow motion past the black teeth of the rough stone banks.
ducks and fish swim and splash on the ribbon of shallow green
rippling the water near the gondolas floating lazily by
the sky a glowing gray behind the branches of kowhi and cordyline
interspersed with fir and pine shelter canopies.
couples garnish the rectangular grass, kids pass balls in open fields,
cricket matches and rugby games are played to measure time
as rhythm and rhyme footstep past in their own scene
leaning into each step caught tapping
leaving the mind to dream of days in the garden
clapping the beat of idyllic happiness.