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I
"I’m thinking how much I enjoy
lying in the grass like this
and looking up at the sky.”
two thousand little spires
turned on their sides
compose to make a bed,
and I lie like a cow
dreaming of rain.
at our feet (the ones we use
to bruise the lawn
like blackberries)
the discard of the afternoon:
two pair of shoes,
two apple cores
tonight: that fruit to flesh
fastforward
and that flesh to ash
spread ceremoniously
in the vegetable garden.
Some days I pretend
to crave
the dark-chocolate ground.
I get the sense that
farther down
the soil is damp and cool,
If only I could lie down a while,
and let this fever break.
But not today;
I am still here
under the cooler Elm.
And I am still in love
with the persistent, subtle itch
of grass on my legs.
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