Rooted in transience. 

July 9th, 2023

A poem from mid-spring:

walked to Barnsdall Art Park 

ate a mediocre salad

thought about seeing someone

to share in the in-between 

when I remembered the 

sheer sadness at being here

then I touch the grass

really feel it

and for a moment find a bit

of hope in the truth 

that maybe all of us

feel that same way

the grass seemed to feel it

as it reassured me

even though it knew

it shouldn't be here, too