The Golden Grass
My rotting nail, over a tomatoe.
Broken bricks, three layers deep In between, the golden green Growing wild, on chlorophyll.
Like shards of glass They lay still Hosting moss That never roll.
They could fall In some stormy dream Tumbling hail But sideways still.
So, should I save The little tree That grows in all This menagerie.
I tap the butt My ashes flick They miss the leaf They hit the brick.
I will move Soon again The moss will leave From brick to brick.
The golden grass No enemy It will dance Around the tree. For they know it well That in the wild The golden rule Works as bright.
You soak the sun You go left and wild But in the night You do it right. Then, you breathe Out, not in You let the tree You live, let live.
My rotting toe Will move again Another place More broken bricks. The shards of glass They will stay Underneath My leather feet.
Now you breathe Like the grass You let the tree You let it live.






