Grass

Dark ocean blue lights roam in the starry sky above me. I’m filled with a sensation of the beach and shells on a summer night, not so distant from today. I feel the shape of a person lying next to me on the humid shadowed grass field. I breathe in their presence, a familiar smell of bubble gum and second hand clothing. I imagine opening my eyes, turning my body towards theirs, and hugging them tight. The cold empty air creeps onto my bare skin along with the sudden appearance of fall and disappearance of summer. I think that they might feel the chill I feel. With the thin brown cardigan they’re wearing, they must be freezing. I suppose I really should do it. Speak into the wind though it might extinguish my voice, I hope it will first reach their comfort. Embrace them like my fantasies, so that even the mere parts of me touching them will heat every inch of their bodies. I decide to do it. My eyes fall open, once again facing the distant lonely blue-sharded sky. I take up some of the air, and let go briefly after. I count the stars up to five before turning towards--the sight of dark green grass flowing with the wind. I open my mouth to speak, and as expected my voice travels away as if it never even spoke. I turn back to facing the stars, heaving my arms onto the grass, forming a cross with my body. I wonder how I got here? What was I going to do? Where was I going? Where am I? It seems like the only real thing is the sky in which I cannot even touch, only watch, as the clouds fly away from sight, and the moon aligns itself with my  unmoving perspective. How is that the most real thing? I grab at the grass beneath my palms, ripping them to shreds. Holding the murdered grass I inspect it through the gleaming reflection of the moon. And still, the moon looks more real than the green spectacles dying in my palms. I let go and watch the dark pieces of grass fall gently onto my face like leaves. I sense their landing on the skin of my face, yet all I feel is light like a spirit, like the wind is taking me away. I feel the air echo my voice back, dragging me after it, calling me to come, and I feel a floating sensation. I’m closing in on the moon, watching the grass caress my skin. Feeling myself seep out into the stars that no longer stand above me but beyond, where I’m destined to go. And I wonder why I am. And I wonder where these objects that I sense myself forming in this space come from, how they shape and make and release for me to parse and understand. And I start to wonder why there is nothing else besides me, nothing like me, nothing to share these instances with. I wonder if I am the creator, or simply a speckle of smoke, released into the trail of clouds. Until I stop.