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Somewhere in the deep grasses...


by Samuel Derrick Rosen


Queen's Park, 9am, I walk a black dog,
children and their mothers gather round the petting zoo,
the animals too nervous, they are best inside their cages,
in their cages everything is true.

The daffodils are out,
young loves float in the residuum of Spring,
thru a weightlessness that weighs old men go a roving,
all that is behind them now of their own imagining, half in tune they sing,

eye to mind, mind to eye,
walking through the buds that fall slowly from waking trees,
a voice demands they take off their hats and fall upon their knees,
but the old men are intimate with gravity,
they know the invisible is misperceived.

Somewhere in the deep grasses people emerge from pods,
birds so dark and foul, congregate, conspire,
leave me to dream or not to dream, or lock my mind in some ruin'd tower,
something is coming, silent as a mountain, invisible as music,
stars will hibernate in consecrated skies.

In the infancy of a fog,
I carefully turn the pages of a book whose name I can't recall,
within it there are words like hunter and hunted,
simplicity, sleeplessness, murder.

Is it time to feed the swans?  Are there hours between these dawns?
Should I pour a soft refrain?  Assent?  Be sane?
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