If It Were Only
If it were only green grass,
Soft on the toes, clumped
Between the fingers —
If it were only
The things that wither away,
The things we must foresee,
Every sunspot petal on every
Bottom of every shoe — or the
Dewdrops collecting in the palm,
Trickling, weeping down
The curve of the lash, and the tip of the nose —
Or even the sweet damp Soil,
Sure as myself and my veins,
Thick as blood coursing, crumbling into
Cosmic Connect-the-dots —
The lines of which have always
Been etched in the stones,
And spelled out in the stars —
Maybe the Hurt would feel like less,
And the Rifts would heal,
And our Pulses would steady
Themselves —
Maybe all would be
As Sure
As the Ground
And the Grass, and the Dew,
And the Stems, and the Stars,
And the Stones.
Of the Earth
Please don’t take from me
The wide open ochre swaths of land,
The Air lying still and sweet
As it burns it in the light —
The sheaths of ancient rock,
Gray-eyed and storied with decay,
The dignity of prehistoric scars —
The fog over the thickets,
The ceaseless moors, desperate
And alone, ghosts that rise
Before dawn, in meadowfoam Bliss —
The Lives hidden in the bogs,
And the croak-cackle-hush-crackle
Of the first stirrings of these velvet
Newborn nights —
The Green, the Green, the Green — and —
Everything that stayed
When it could’ve gone —
Please bring back to me
Everything that left,
And could’ve stayed —
Should’ve Stayed.
Green
Sometimes I want nothing more
Than to throw back my tired head
And dissolve into
Whatever the Green
Is made of.