GRASS

1. Oh come, arrive,
but do arrive slowly!
It is quiet, spring,
and the warmth is awake.

I merge with the grass.
With no tree, proud and powerful,
stern from awaiting blade or storm,
I haven't felt such a kindred expansion,
as with this silent, black, obedient grass.

Come slowly, approach but beyond sight
remain, on the verge of this vigilant mind.
Dive out of painful waiting, a naked rose,
before the dreams of this poor, ancient home.

Don't approach yet. Like a dawn
I sense you - deafening behind the mount.
Don't come, slowly. A moist stone awaits you,
in a sorrowed brook and a sun-song.

Like a hand of wind, rustling and warm,
I breathe with the grass above the moist soil.
As to a cave burnt by long deaths,
they return, the dreams, quiet and strong.

2. Don't speak, be silent.
Let the One arrive
who breathed in the grass
his mighty will.
Let the draughty strike
in the women's night
take hold of the hour
and the ants' rustle.

"Let there be grass!"
and a deaf falcon rushes
to carry the news
to the barefoot stars.
A dazzled wind
falls from the heaven
bringing grass, wet grass,
like beautiful locks.

"Let there be silence!"
and eternal noise
of growth and seething
and bodily wounds.
Let the pine sleep,
let the song roar,
to count and awake all
time buried and adored.

"Here it is - a body!"
and here the lightning bolt.
White waters open
that blaze and torment.
Let there be silence:
grass is being born.
Let the ember spring forth
above the ancient dancers.

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