Dry Grass
- Details
- Written September 2026
Under a fungal foot
Dried out filaments
Keeping company
With the dead,
Graveyard of hoped-fors
Invaded by weeds
Making themselves at home
Rooted deep down
In the bed of hell.
Mowers rest in peace
In the heaven of mid-summer
While snails retreat
Looking for somewhere
Thirst-quenched
Waiting for outpoured wine
Hoping it would turn into water
Grass into bread
Greening up
Back into business.
Skies veiled,
Waiting for a clap
Heralding Thor
Who retreats weeping
In a mere drizzle.
August 2026
Waiting for rain in a thirsty garden !