I followed a reed

Down to the ground,

It’s stoic greenness

Leading my hand.

 

Fibers, like razors,

Like all grasses slice

The dry parchment of

My palm and make a

 

Blessing of my life.

Leaves, embalmed in muck

Tangle with the fine hairs

Put forth by your will,

 

Reed. I expect frost

Will overtake you

And my monochrome

Sky, obscure your pride.

 

Now, though, you arrange the days,

An amber pinnacle in my sights.