The tree has fallen today
Leaving the golden, disturbed bees to flee
Only in these woods do I wander alone
Tasting yesterday’s spice on my tongue
My salty refusal towards all who care for me.
The red tailed hawk soars slightly south
For in its youth it cannot control
Its newly fledged wings
Beating as fast as a heart full of spice.
The grass unfolds to the light
Of this newly rising sun—
Its rays like the majestic lion’s mane.
I unfold with the long, dancing blades
And become green—a tinge of hope.
But hope only peers in through the folds of night
When there is sorrow in me that is flowing.
Not when there is harsh, staccato sorrow
But only when it flows in
Like a river.
I cannot repel my society, for I am part of it
But if I could only turn—
Unfold like the blades of grass—
From grey to gold I would turn, I would rain tears