Sketch by Lindsay Berg

Dreaming of Japanese Gardens

A poet from Las Vegas, Lindsay Berg lives on the fringes of Downtown, where she crops up semi-daily in the sunlight of a few treasured coffee houses. There she writes, creating microcosmic wildernesses. She’s currently working on a collection of poems and illustrations set in a Japanese garden, her whimsical home away from home.


her rough poems pencil
gentle shadows the flowers make upon
the meadow. clad in white, a Shinto priest
gently sweeps a like-sized mound of moss
into the air off the flat, white courtyard into a lush
floral bed of billowing cherry blossoms,
into something that was lived, designed,
subject to poetry and critique as the
first infinitely incomplete piece

Sketch by Lindsay Berg


that burden of beauty
that expanded even in his last hour
now signs she collects and pines together

to recount her father’s swelling lullaby
farewell poem
hands and words that slip
and wrap Yoshiko
with cool wet rain on her warm body

every memory arises
in fierce heartstrings, sparks,
and lands on her father’s ghost
in the garden
and she sinks
with his memory
into rock formations
and becomes indistinguishable
from them

rocks that resemble memories
rocks that resemble animals
rocks that resemble humanity
subtle rocks
static nature of rocks
and their languid bodies seem to reach deeper
and enter a meditative state
wordless and essential as the rock

Sketch by Lindsay Berg


hands grasp a fallen branch
she quickly breaks the center of interest
shattering crystal windows—into a palpable
prism of sunlight on mirrored surfaces
her heart flares and cherry blossoms
stain the sharp quick folds of sheer
glass in alizarin crimson

at her core there is a shrill exuberance
of abundance kin to the throbbing life force
of nature—vital for survival and the minute
overdose of waxy blushed blooms
continue to float and fall
long-windedly from the trees
to find her running with a
brown torch of primitive wildness
free and forceful, full-blossomed

untitled II

like flowers evolved from small leaves
(his) hands are round bouquets
of ruffled chrysanthemums—
pink flesh and sunlit bursts
flushed with spring
and a faded memory
of meditative gray rocks,
and a not-yet-deciduous soil
wherein intimacy arises:
a bloom in a swelling and dark universe,
a sapling quilt of palpable eagerness,
a dutiful union with veracious nature,
a prism of sensory waves of reciprocity in his hands

love arises as wilderness
clasping the stem of earthly exuberance
and all its physical palpations:
intermittent collisions of body, earth,
and air in alternating states of clenched
and open abundance fastened
to the passage of origins

For more information about Lindsay Berg’s upcoming collection, e-mail her at

Vegas Seven