The Book of Grass

I’m not a walled city above a river,
I’m the city’s coat of arms.

Not the city’s coat of arms, a star above the shield
On the city’s coat of arms.

Not that heavenly visitor in a blackness of water,
I’m the name of the star.

Not a voice, not a dress on that far shore,
I can only shine.

Not a ray of light beyond your vision,
I’m a house in ruins from the war.

Not a house on the high rampart,
I’m the memory of your home.

O not your friend, but one who’s sent by fate,
I’m the sound of a distant shot.

I lead you to the steppe along the coast,
And I lie down on the humid earth.

I become the book of newborn grass
And I nuzzle into the native womb.