GRASS

1. Oh come, come,

but come 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,

have the dreamy desires of this 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

and brings 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.