To Rest on the Grass

[Bernie McCann]

I had come to rest on the grass
tilting a painted fan to cool me
only the grass knows I am here
and the thin mustard sunlight
peeking from behind buttermilk clouds

Had it rained?
I felt nothing but my damp palms
raised above my head

Now and again I notice
shiny leaves floating on the pond
should I go in naked
on such a day as this
when only the branches and leaves
peer down at me?

There is no sign of decay here
like in winter
and in my old age
surrounded by death
I feel a need to define my place
in the broadest of terms

I was here once
like a branch bobbing in the wind
with birds watching from hidden perches
I was here once

I had come to rest on the grass...

April 19, 2009
Bernie McCann