EMILY DICKINSON'S GARDEN, TWILIGHT
Miss Dickinson,
Your garden is lovely in the twilight.
The oak tree by your house
Is larger and shadier
Than it was in your day.
Much has changed:
The view from your window,
The world beyond, the language.
Still, the feeling of longing
Remains the same: a long line of silk
That the soul pulls out of itself,
Like a spider spinning her thread in the autumn,
Hoping to catch not food, but the wind,
Hoping to travel far
Without knowing the destination.
[ I photographed Emily Dickinson's garden and house, as I was waiting for the twilight to fall. ]