grass forgetting green i lay in the yard & the blades ask me, "what is our name?" i break mirrors once a week. count birds each day until i reach one hundred. there has been a lack of ghost inventory-taking lately. our estimates are now way off. there are so many more. i lie to the grass & say, "you are all named louis." it is a specific burden to have to name yourself. sometimes, i wish a green mouth would have come & said, "you are this." the grass believes in violins. the grass wants a lover & i am not willing or ready. i tell the grass, "you should talk to the birds." every blade sheds a tear. i say, "i understand."