The Tall Grass

I could listen all day
to the eucalyptus leaves
rustling in the wind, passing it on.
You said once
that the world was stale and worn,
like a room where everything's been used.
Sometimes I wonder
if you were speaking of yourself.
I don't see the world that way,
or you either. At this moment
the clouds in the Eastern sky
are limned with red light
like the edge of a forest fire.
The cows across the road are grazing
in the acres that burned last year.
Now tall green grass grows there.
I know they are slow beasts, barely aware,
but they love their calves,
and they worship in their way.
They are beautiful in their striped coats.
All is beautiful, especially you.
If your world is a stale room
then let me break the door
and carry you into the June sunshine.
Maybe you're right that everything's been touched,
but the world renews itself.
The rains wash to the sea,
and all is clean. I know that -
like the acres where the cows graze -
you've been burned.
You said you have ten thousand questions
and nowhere to turn. You said
you are a painful mystery to yourself.
That's okay. None of us have answers,
none of us know our own depths
any more than we know the stars..
You are innocent as a childto me.
You are new, never stained,
the tall grass growing green
on the acres of your soul.