I can pull up a handful of grass
still green and know it will come back
with an essential sense of what
it was and is. I just want to know how
to lie down, to know my life is writ-
ten across a grass seed, in the profile
still green and know it will come back
with an essential sense of what
it was and is. I just want to know how
to lie down, to know my life is writ-
ten across a grass seed, in the profile
of a grass blade. In the body of a per-
son: a color for grass which gets lost,
a word for green that only I can see, a hornet
flying in elliptical orbits. Imagine a yard
where the grass is blue in the moonlight. I-
magine what green is to the dead. Imagine if
that was the one thing always preserved
from every person who ever lived— at least
one thing could be a thread.
