I.

Everything dares the grass.
The cold, the rain,
Feet and tails and mouths
Shovel and stomp, throw skyward
The greensward, each blade
Cartwheeling into
Death’s dance. In massive kneel
They tangle and hug,
Laying restful by each other’s sides
Waiting,
Ever patiently,
For the drink and eat to come.
As one
They resurrect, growing as swift as
Shadows in waning light.
Their persistence, is a terrible gift;
Each one suffering a thousand blows
To lift an inch of their fingerlike form
Into the air;
Rowing their oars,
Striving for horizons they’ll
Never
Reach.