Bordered by the sun,
green grasses flow
Their sea of spikes
seems to know the air
as a long time companion,

they lean like friends;
they grow the same,
they’ve died together
And after all
enjoy sharing roots
many many years
harboring fireflies at night
and being tickled by the rain
But this may be a lie

because life is a dimension
and within our animal house
our eyes glow the same
and stretch in the black
that knows no name
that knows no end
but echoes like diamonds
like tingling feet falling asleep
placed boxy and heavy
until small toes are

when the world stops
shifting in relaxed eyes
we are soil
best for growth,
part of everything,
shadows, feet, home
clay and sand
bowls and cups and grasses
sparkle in dew and
crisp ice in snow
But this may be a lie

who depends on fingers like mine
and paper and water-mill minds
simple pulleys above the well
this may be our world
this may be our mind
this may be mine


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