Grass Tears
Walking along the highway
to school,
6 AM with
the sun pouring over mountains
like an open wound,
it's blood-light
soaking deep into my
pores, I saw
everything
as art.
6 AM and there were
tiny stalks of grass,
poking their faces up
through cracks in the pavement,
little orbs of dew
sparling on their tops,
capturing rainbow worlds as they
laughed, and
whenever the cars
pushed wind
over their
fat, emerald bodies,
they danced, and
I
imagined
what their tears
would look
like,
flicking off
into oblivion.
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