Green Dots

by Darryl Price

"It just makes sense to be nice to everything that lives."--Aurora Aksnes

Like Aurora, my favorite color is moss green. 
Anything else is a lie told to throw 
you off the scent. You will abandon her. 
Just like you will abandon me. Green. We 
were walking through the thick leaves, looking for 
a way in. That kind of silence. We 
disturbed nothing, only because we had no harm 
in our hearts. It's you we are trying 

to get away from, you we are trying 
to reach. You will abandon this message. You 
will abandon the one true gift as it 
is being given. It's only a matter of 
time. Green. We touched somehow. I liked the 
end tips of her fingers more than almost 
anything else on the planet. She may have 
smiled, but only because she felt at home. You 

will abandon her lovely eyes. You will call 
her lovely skin nothing but mushrooms. You will 
abandon us to the wolves, which is what 
you were planning to do all along. We 
were hoping to fall through the earth and 
be swallowed up together. Alone would have been alright, 
too. She's good at being alone, because she 
cares so much for the small. Green has 

to have its own sacred place where it 
can read books, paint if it likes and 
write music. Isn't that what she said? She 
wasn't talking about books. She was talking about 
light. She didn't mean paint, she meant dance 
and make light. Play in light. Play with 
light. Notice light. Be of light. Welcome it 
to your home and heart. Magnetism is magnetism, 

but it is also communion, telling yourself that 
you have not forgotten any living thing. Of 
course she is scared you will find her 
out and cause harm. That's why she wants 
to find you first. To offer you peace. 
Instead you will abandon all prospects for peace 
once you get to know her voice, because
you are just that greedy. You will not 

abandon your guns however. Even if she gets 
you to stop and listen. But what you 
don't know is how she is creating something 
beyond listening and beyond all the guns that 
ever were or ever will be. Beyond Green. 
It's an ancient story within a story being 
told by a dreamer, a thinker; for the 
first time again, we are being called upon. 

Bonus poems:

That One Trick

by Darryl Price

You've fallen for it, too. Thinking there 
is only one path to saying or 
hearing all is love. Gathering all 

the clues you know nothing about, please 
open your eyes. If it were only 
that easy, everyone would simply 

go home, collect their box of shit and 
stop being a fool and waken. I was 
always the last to know, I know, but 

not in what I always am, believe
me. See, it's the same. Some people can 
only see those they can't define as 

sitting there being quiet. I was 
never one of those standing in the 
dirty sad ocean, waiting to be 

taken under by a terribly 
dark mystery. I wanted to know the 
truth, what is pure. Meet it head on. I 

don't think I'm sorry. You pushed me. Pushed 
us. Some of us can walk upright in 
our bedtime dreaming. It's where we belong. 

You can't come in if you can't stay more
awake than broken. That's the rule. Put
your heads down. Grab an arm. Come this way. 

When You Say There Is Very Little Magic

by Darryl Price

left in the world, I know you are lying. Priests 
of old used it against the wrong citizens. 
Nailed them to trees and left them there to die. When 
you say there is very little magic left 
in the world, I know you are pretending to 

be brave. To be asleep. Things out there will hunt you down, 
you say. But what once things have you maybe hunted down? 
Magic isn't careful. It's wild. When you say 
there is very little magic left in the 
whole world, I know you are hoping to not get 
caught in the act. When you say there is very 

little magic left in the world, I know you 
have not grown a garden from scratch and seed. 
You have not walked into a forest alone 
and unarmed. You have not met a new rain on 
the lonely road on your way home from work. When 

you say there is very little magic left 
in the world, I know you have not listened. It 
really doesn't matter to what. That's just some 
awful squeezing device they use to get you 
to say you are afraid. It doesn't matter 
of what. When you say there is very little 

magic left in the world, I know you are full 
of hidden tears that need to be released. When 
you say there is very little magic left 
in the world, I know you are refusing to 
look me in the eyes. I know you are choosing 

to be full of doubt. When you say there's very 
little magic left in the world, I know you 
are warning me to stay far away. You are 
made to. You are pulling your lips back to reveal 
your gums. You are showing me your longest teeth. 
You have now forgotten how to smile without 

biting. It's okay. Because you don't mean it 
when you do. Your faith is in nothing. Except 
for hollow bread. The possessed holes. The end. But 
you do know a better conversation. When 
you say there is very little magic left 

in the world, I know you don't mean it. When we 
were just children we played together because 
it was the honest thing to do. It was an 
uncorrupted apple we touched, tenderly, 
to share in a holy circle.  Because we 
wanted to trust someone in a dream.  It's like 

that. When you say there is very little of 
the old magic left in the world, I know you 
have been seriously smacked on the head by 
monsters in a ramshackle cave somewhere. The 
clamp down neighborhoods can hide a lot of pain 

inside your chest. Your pain is not your master. 
When you say there is very little magic 
left in the world, I know you have forgotten all 
flowers. I'm still your friend. You're still my friend. When 
you say there is very little magic left 
in the world, I know you have embraced regret.