Inside the mountain

Garden of springing water,
cowries,
arcs of nautilus and oyster

“It’s yours if you want it.
I give it to you
as a gift
from my ancestors.

But first a question:

How old
is this green-checkered
costume of mine?”

Looking closely,
guessing:

“New.”

“Oh no! Then you cannot have
this ancient iridescent garden.”

I leave through a window,
into the backyard
bordering the mire

into the deep cold
bog water,
darker and older
than his garden