The grass will grow between us.
The sun and moon
have ended their shooting war
in favor of
disinformation and disarray.
The grass will grow between us.
The winters grow shorter
the spring more like summer
and always
the future less and less
like a sea of possibility
and more like a drowning pool
a scrying place
television
for an executioner.
The grass will grow between us.
You and I are a million missed chances
the back of your neck
as seen from above
and hovering over a keyboard,
somebody else's family,
decades gone by or going
all of these just out of reach
and thrilling
remain tenebrous
upon consideration.
The grass will grow between us.
Cool logic,
cooling blood,
the yoke of age
and one day silence
save for children playing
where the grass will grow between us.