All the marrow of a man or woman, green & sub-rosa,
As if we ourselves were our gardens
Before today—I think I could will it so…
I was my garden, was the yew tree;
Was oleander, or the uncommon weed
Which now we can’t identify
But think it’s a flower
& leave it alone.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 
Aha, perhaps this poem may be the answer to my question, “…consider the downside of our miraculous cyberworld of instant communication. There was a time when a ‘retreat’ truly was a way to disconnect. But here you are in paradise, with the whole wide world breathing down your neck. Is this a good thing?” Perhaps it wasn’t. I have a devil of a time understanding modern poetry. Yews and oleanders are both quite toxic. Is this significant?
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