Painted Garden

This painted garden that surrounds
us every day, a feast of light,
a carnival of smells and sounds,
rolls up and folds away each night.
You think that we can trust in sight?
Don’t look behind the canvas walls,
there’s nothing there, and it just might
be more than we can stand. We fall,
and grovel, helpless and appalled
and lose our sense of place and size
like Alice when she’s very small.
Don’t count on senses. Close your eyes,
and you will find the Painter stands
behind the canvas, brush in hand.