Thursday, May 25, 2017

The nature of grasses

What was once -- moments ago -- green is now a healthy straw-brown hue. How a mild yellow sets it off.  You can hear the gears of growing.  Worms pushing aside dirt for grub.  You don't need to imagine a human in the seat of control.  All is not still here.  A meal and a poem stir.  Upheaval is imminent.

1 comment:

  1. Surfaces

    The dish of ripe melon, cold and fragrant.
    Why the smile when I see you waiting?