The grass is wet
Drops of rain, clinging
To each lolling blade
Like minute universes
Trees, all purple, like a swollen bruise
Or overripe fruit
Bit into, to cascade juices down
The chin of one, who sups upon
The pulpy flesh
And drinks, the juice of life
I fade, and flicker
Far away, and held fast
By that simple majesty
I see in nature
In this wet grass
I see, time's endless passage
Emerald green, vibrant grass
Here, and there, is scattered
All about, with leaves
Withered, brown, old
Marking time's voyage onward
Ravaged, by the passing moments
They do not even blow
Or flutter in the wind
As they did when they
Were green, on summer day
But rest, or are all dead
And will not stir
For what might stir now
The old and decayed
No touch of green upon them
Nay, they will not stir

In this empty space
Sitting on my bench
I am acutely aware
That I am alone
How long then
Since I felt
The fiery confusion, of fumbling kiss
Or many small ecstasies
Wrought by another's hand?
How long then since
In some shared space
With precious little between
Yet still we tried
To close any space
And in this, there was
Fire, and ice, calm, and excitement
How long then, since?
I cannot recall

Strangers at the bus stop
Always moving, a microcosm
Life in miniature
All convinced they need to get somewhere
When it doesn't really matter
They wait, impatiently
And i wait with them
But when my bus comes
I do not wish away the journey
I know that the destination, and time
Are unimportant
Yet, I hope
Someone might speak to me
Fill, however briefly
This silent time existing
With a flicker, of humanity
We will see

They gather, to hear musicians play
A few small groups litter the grass
They are like the music
Or the summer sun
They are fleeting
They exist, but for a time
They may even live
But they too shall pass
Into nothing
Should I envy them?
Their joy, however fleeting
Perhaps not
And yet, I do