a garden imprint, a garden in print

only two nights old in the new place, he felt his insides turn all floral printed with the sweet scent of wild gardens, grass and pale lilac flowers that peeped out of polythene bags till late in the night of the next morning of tuesdays on the mountain whose steep uphills were scaled by the king's men who played their drums that sounded like leathery foot steps with painful wheezy breaths that were notes from an ill played flute, oh my god, oh timid brother, where would you be now, if not here and if not now?