On blades of grass I lay. I can see them and they can see me, but they are mirrors. each blade recieves, but does not keep; it accepts all which it is offered, but does not know of its own. I am the reflection. As hard as I may try to give, I will only be capable of keeping. So long as I cannot give, I cannot recieve. So long as I see myself, I cannot recieve. So long as having is possible, I am empty. So long as I am empty, I cannot give. I am merely a spectator, for I am the reflection. Even if I become green, thin, and small; if my reflection even looks like grass, I will still not reflect. Only if I am no longer something to be reflected, and grass not something to be seen, will I then escape the cycle of myself.
poetry
Blades of Grass
A notebook poem that starts small and keeps returning to growth, texture, and humility.
