Arriving home with the morning sun,
I find myself captured
More by the promise of love today than yesterday.
I lie on the grass, in disbelief, head cradled in my arms,
Seeking answers to unasked questions.
One blade, a remnant of my recent past, bent,
Unfolds, struggles
To straighten its spine,
To reclaim its stiff erectness, as I watch.
Then, quite unexpectedly, my tears begin,
Drop by drop,
To water the grass.

A small black ant stretches one leg reaching for the recovered blade,
The blade of a damaged heart.
Multiple feet scurry, hurriedly reaching for the next secure step,
Steps into an uncertain future.
My questions, the ones that remain,
Will not easily find answers.
And my tears, drop by drop,
Water the grass.

Watching them fall,
To refresh and salt the ever-present now,
I ask them if they also fall, one following its brother,
To ensure the growth of some newly-sprouting future?
The question hangs,
Poised above the blades,
Waiting. While tears,
Drop by drop,
Continue to water the grass.

The grass, in its infinite wisdom,
Does not care.
It accepts the water as it comes,
Using only that which is required for maintenance,
Disregarding the rest.
I, in my finite ignorance, cannot abide.
I lay open my wounded heart upon the green,
Asking the Universe for answers,
Demanding that they must come.
Then I wait, patiently. Without satisfaction.
And drop by drop,
Water the grass.