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.

A one year anniversary

I sit on this chair, bowed,

resting forearms on knees, hands clasped,

staring at a shadow, my shadow, draped over drab berber.

A soft fluorescent overhead bathes all.

My outline is box and triangle, fingers a steeple,

resembling no man

yet definitively me.

A representation without true form,

no sign of leg and leg, arm and arm, head and torso.

No useful hint of true me.

As good a help as blind men and their elephant.

I am a wall. I am a tree. I am a rope. I am a spear.

I am at a funeral.

Faded friend. Product of youth.

You are indistinct now

like Oquirrh edges haze lost.

Aha! A day early

Four full sheep in her mind I suppose,

little lambs with dirty brown coats

trailing her along that fence of wire,

renters there in that little field

where Development will one day evict.

But for now they live and breathe my fumes.

A home aside Heidi’s mountain but dreamed,

no pastoral path to summer home,

no warm winter refuge.

Just this.

Do these four curse the Season clock

of their mother’s desire, Womb

that dropped them to this city meadow?

Or,

is it just to live,

to know a gentle, familial peace,

the comfort of mother's milk,

the green of the grass.

What do they know

that I have forgotten?