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Seth Jani

Seth Jani-Author Pic

Seth Jani currently resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven Circle Press. His own work has been published widely in such places as The Coe Review, The Hamilton Stone Review, Hawai`i Pacific Review, VAYAVYA, Gingerbread House and Gravel. More about him and his work can be found at

The Garden

He comes into the garden
Because it is the only door
In the pervading mist.
It might be the back
Of the world, or only the world
Opening out from our illusions.
Snow falls like delicate white fruit,
Like fossilized sunlight.
He leans over the well
Where he can see constellations
Drifting above him.
He’s been trying his whole life
To get here,
To taste that shimmering black water.
When he reaches down
Into that darkness,
The petals of a sunken ash tree
Fill his hands.


The prayer is dreaming all day
It is a butterfly coasting
The black stone and entering
The sky.
It leaves the mouth
To hinge on silence
And wait for the first
Rain of music.
How softly it hovers,
Like something almost said,
Like a hesitation, or longing
Never embodied.
Even amongst the flourish
Of carnations it is barely
A light, barely a shine
Or color.
The prayer opposes everything
We stand for by simply being prayer.
It is like the stream of invisible nectar
From which the gathering bees
Craft their wild gold.


If there is something wrong
With this world
I am blissfully unaware.
Deadpan, the hummingbird
Stares into the molecules of dew
And sees the color refracted.
It carries those rainbow particles
All day in its triple rhythm.
It’s so fast you’d never know
This is how the deposited sun
Turns into honey, into the sweetness
Of light.
Somewhere above us
The stars let down their radial tresses,
Tracing in the dark
The shape of a young boy
With his two, cerulean jars.

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