Grass and Boy

Have you ever heard the grass grow? One magic, mystic night in boyhood I did -

Adventuring in the night, in the sweet summer, summer night, as I was wont to do in boyhood so many years ago

all by myself,

all by myself: There were no witnesses but me.

Imprint so strong, still, I see the place, ill-lit by streetlight

half a block away; Feel the night and lawn on which I lay; Hear, again, the town off there

someplace, faint with distance

(only noticed if I pay close attention); Smell musty fecundity of earth and lawn; Taste the single blade of grass

I chose to chew,

faintly bitter acid taste

on my tongue, in my mouth; Boyhood senses tuned and sharpened

by adventuring in the summer night,

on my back on the lawn on that summer night

I heard the grass grow:

stretching, stretching toward maturity

just as I was.

I recognize my kinship with the grass,

with all living, growing, changing things -

with you; I won't tell you how it sounds,

growing grass,

or how I know it's true;

perhaps you know, Or perhaps, in time, you might allow yourself

to hear the grass grow On a mystic, magic summer night.

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