All You See Is Grass
The discovery, of course,
the milkweed, the current, the glint
of red in grass
when light lengthens
and then, with a shudder,
Here, the birdsong, There the bones—
The plow with all the rest of the rust.
Old hands finger threads
in the grass:
This dugout, That homestead,
But all you see
One thought on “All You See Is Grass: A Poem”
The pace and simplicity of this poem evokes the feeling of the prairie or desert to me. I LOVE it!