Flat On The Grass Three Days Before Cathy Goes Poem by Stephen Bennett The Playjurist

It's better when my head is on the low end of the ground
that way the wind on my body can rush up
and my life though not quite down
grows close to that place
the saints starve themselves to get to
emptiness so full of nothing anywhere happening
oh
such an abundant flow take all
the times when you cannot move
take away those in which your life is not
facing the danger and come again to the instant
of feeling this is the place where the grass is
speaking its ordinary sound so full of its meaning
at the same time void
of any specific message or smartness.
No need to go from this place to find
any other place that's anywhere else. We want so much,
usually do... but here we want nothing except for
well
not even that. Only we do
become tired of everything that knows us
waving in so close
and up and down and away and God
from His silence for some reason just watches
listening and looking for the real selves...
the real of all that's around to any
of us and He looks
I believe, also through us
for Himself.