The Valley of Gray and Black
A Hill. Nightime.
Overlooking a valley of grass,
a smooth lawn that slopes down into a winding space
where a river should be.
The color of the moon makes it all gray and black.
Like hair in a black and white. Like short
military cropped hair
grown out from a month of neglect
In this valley, there is the moonlight
and the grass.
On this hill
overlooking the valley
there is a figure.
what the figure is cannot be told
like dream, where the meaning makes sense
until you divy it up into categories
because it’s anything but only that one thing
and it doesn’t fit the words you put it to.
and it doesn’t match the things you think it should.
the figure sits on this hill
above this valley
and it looks away from the valley
up at the moon
and the light shines on what we call a face
and the face shines at what we call a moon
and the shadow of that dim lamp
reflects what we call shoulders,
knees and folds, feet and veins, toes and nails,
crumpled fingers with a million fractal crinkles
glossy sheen nails on the knees
cross legged legs sitting
the grass feeling the legs
like little fingers
little military cut fingers
that spent too much time reflecting
to do what they were cut to do.
and one of those crumpled, crinkling fingers
reaches out with a fat, rolled up thumb
and with a snap
breaks a hair of grass
hair made from dead things
used and tossed particles
hair made of trash
that makes what we call a ‘blade’
snaps the ‘blade’
lifts the broken ‘blade’
to the moon
where the shadow of the ‘blade’
etches onto the ‘face’
in the light of the pale ‘moon’
and the outline of that grass
in a crumpled hand
looks back at an endless eye
or what the common might call center
center of the eye
stares backwith a blackness
that shadow cannot match
the shade of the blade
does not match the fathom
it cannot meet the stare
and so the ‘eye’ of the figure perceives the grass
it is a blade
it is hair
it grows from the valley
taking in a half-light
from a weak lamp
and this hair
this dead particle
is a ‘blade’
and the figure sits on the hill
gazing at the shadowed ‘blade’
in the ‘moonlight’
above the valley of gray and black.