MAGIC CLIPPERS
Recovering from my deep frozen
winter
I wander
amid a sea of grasses
of new-grown wild flowers
where just last week
(I’ve lost track)
snow lay deep.
No path remains.
Despite your absence
summer has secretly returned.
No pretending winter losses
any more.
I re-awaken
like this field
whose sea of waving tassels
swishing
beckons savory awareness
bids me to remember
a primeval gratitude for
the lives of grasses.
I re-affirm, re-enter
my neglected garden
step through grassy clumps
inhale fragrances from the
East
Once
years before
to service coming campers
machines broken
I tried to mow a great grass
field
with clippers.
Overwhelmed by impossibility
I was reduced
to solitary snips.
One snip. Another snip. Then
the next
swallowed by the boundless
field.
Will dissolving
hope gone
this endless clipping
by some miracle
(snow now forgotten)
brought warm release
saved me
when my trance was slowly
permeated
by distant throbbing motor
sounds.
By then I was delirious
with the scent of mown grasses
each clip, each snip
nudging open a gateless gate
to this Now.