so often, when i get handed stories where people die, I go to where it happened.

 I go the place where they were last themselves, in their bodies, alive 

"why do you film the flowers, Zach? 

why do you show us the grass?

the breeze? 

the green, green leaves?" 

i want to show what it means 

to look up at the sky one last time 

i want to leave flowers for them

when I don't...

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This music,

it makes me want to fall from the water

float in the sky,

stare at those lips

and kiss those green eyes,

drink from the clouds

and jump on the pond

to feel the stars

and gaze at the stones,

the rythms , the notes

melt my mind

ignite my visible voice

I'm not here nor there

maybe inside a void

floating on the blues

maybe its a d...

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Glorious was that day:

Star rich the summer sky

Amongst the sun warm hay

We stole a sack on which to lie

Warm was that night:

Grass framed the starry gems

Below the hov'ring kite

We kissed amongst the tall grass stems

Heavenly was that tryst:

Grass rough the bed we made

Below a dusky mist

We took our love as grasses swayed

Fierce was that lust:

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old leaves
follow
the curve
of the water
and now
that the rain
has ended
the trees bend
their branches,
heavy with the push
of the fading season,
towards the shadows growing
in the long
fingers of the grass

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You only really win, having lost.

On the front lawn, all is identical until you notice it.

Every other blade you see its 50 shades greener than your own.

Those shades depend on light. Those blades gleam off light refracted.

Interesting...
Who has the light?

Every day you look, you stare, you glare

with a drink, with a book, with a chair, with a care.

Your care, carelessly, mi...

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your fingers
shadowed on the grass
the soft
sound of the leaves
rushing
in a pass of breath
as it begins
to rain

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