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."  

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