Grass

1.

A little grass

growing on oblivious slopes.

It comes back sometimes to flow in my veins

as gentle pain.

It comes as a tender glimpse through the darkness.

It comes soft and bashful,

waving in my mind,

and I remember first steps,

steps that drew small skies to the soil,

when paths led not to terrible peaks

but incremental terrors

to which we surrendered,

terrors that received us

happily.

Then, the darkened skies

became lines we traced,

lines that rose and fell around us.

2.

Wet grass

laughing on oblivious slopes.

It comes back sometimes to throb in my veins,

then slides its scars across my hands,

like tattoos to remind me of its fading across the years.

How long will it continue to diminish?

No sooner had it danced in my mind, damp and fresh,

than the slope and sky collapsed

and it was lost.

Yet, I do not know from where

it comes sometimes, to flutter in my veins.

3.

Greedy grass,

I have only slept in its nest but once.

How can I remember its warmth

after what my memory has endured

of ashes and fire?

How do I find it, when loss has washed the path away

and scattered all beginnings

through time and space?

Was I to awaken to winds

that scattered me in all directions?

I slept not long on that grass,

but I looked to the sky, and it seemed to me to rise and rise.

I lay on my back

and the clouds that lay on the surface of the sky

looked like me.

I lost those clouds.

I slept only awhile on that grass

and then moved on.

Will I ever know its damp scent again?

Grass growing distant,

comes back to me at times, when my days have gone astray.

I wonder, was it the grass that was greedy,

or was it only the burden of years?

(August 1993)