Written by: Paul Sylvester

"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
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.