The Gardener and Death

A Persian nobleman:

This morning, white with fear, my gardener flees Into my house: ‘Master, a moment please!’

Out in the rose-beds, pruning shoots with care, I looked behind me. Death was standing there.

I gave a start, and sought my getaway, But glimpsed his hand that made as if to slay.

Master, your horse, and at full tilt I’ll

nothing knows the sound of abandonment like a highway does, not even God.

- Hanif Abdurraqib