The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Charm of Secret Gardens

There are so many steps between the buried key
and an inner fold of the well traversed etched
into recordkeeper quartz with its warm frequency
and fiddle-faddle of verbs forever dangling 
like carbanado diamantes against the laminar light

An overgrown threshold ravished to a cheshire grin
such a found nebula relieves us of our ghostly shadow
our toes untethered from the mushrooming earth
while thousand-tipped umbels slumber as if they
were less heartwood than herakleitian sap seeking

To speak of doors is to blaspheme the tesseract
to look for a lightswitch for the growing brilliance 
of netherworlds full of the wild fae at play;
Leave your soiled names by the door with your garb
discarded along with Eden's reflective shame 

Shake the blue babies of their cosmic aspirations
for it is enough to hold an undiscovered universe
and an inchoate churning of unsampled aquifers;
Meet the moment with all things suspended
and watch your fingers graze upon sunshone rain

The fragile bubble of Schrödinger's caterpillar
hovers for you to embark into a cascade of florescence
because sometimes the path crosses into the unshared 
transfiguration of the communal consciousness landing
a punchline in percussive guffaws and childish cries of 
wonder.
■





©2025 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.