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26 January 2012

Remembering a view from a porch

Expanse of lovely grass
one week without cut.
Tipped blades
not square and torn.
Gentle irregularity, yon virid carpet.

Bold blades face me - dark
timid back companions turn - muted.
You are my lawn,
disarrayed, likely wind blown,
not pressed by beast at night
resting with abandon

Not meadow - your untamed cousin -
wild in your mind.
You are shaped and edged,
directed, acted upon, yet of nature too not only.

You breathe and purify
despite pattern in mower line.
Aspiring stag divan,
snake of wind,
give sustenance and rooted slake take.

World within world.
The thrive and buzz that hides beneath your surface
is fair form and template for your larger partner,
for denizens who read or systems that circle.

More to you than robins know,
eyes only for mounded loam
and the architects they hide.