to their shapes we are nourished.
feeling the expanse and curves of grief along the edges of grass
wincing at the orange flare
scorching the curves of a curling grass
felt a moment of pure rage, aspen gold.
traveling along the contours of grasses that have no name.
where the air is wet and the light is cool,
i sense what others are pondering and do not speak,
i know pleasure in the veins of a maple grass,
i am living at the edge of a new leaf
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