10:02 pm in august
walking circles in the yard—

the dog won’t pee
so between the chicada speak,
and the smell of burning plastic
the earth, it’s vibrance,
and the vibration of every living thing

makes itself abundantly clear:

these blades of grass never knew the mower for they were born pure

& the fly never suspected the drain, for rain never came from a faucet before

with no cause of death that haunts them

they fear no mortal pain

while we still imagine the boiling rivers, a thousand years from now, when only nothingness persists in the seeds of men,

& the blades of grass laugh,
not weep,
streetlights weep