“Blades And Graves”
I often walk by sections of grass,
With my hand out.
The grass tickles my palm and fingers.
I try not to break the blades.
Trying to catch the tangible delicate concrete things.
Too often, I’ve walked by a loved one’s coffin,
With my hand out.
The coffin resists my pressure.
I try to not let it break me.
Trying to catch the tangible monstrous abstract things.
Gentle, and harsh things.
Touching, life and death.
Touching.
Reaching.
Looking.
Finding.
Meaning and meaninglessness.
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