Adrienne Rich — Rural Reflections

This is the grass your feet are planted on You paint it orange or you sing it green but you have never found a way to make the grass mean what you mean a cloud can be whatever you intend: Ostrich or leaning tower or staring eye But you have never found a cloud sufficient to express the sky get out there with your splendid expertise; Raymond who cuts the meadow does no less Inhuman nature says: inhuman patience is the true success Human impatience trips you as you run; stand still and you must lie. it is the grass that cuts the mower down; it is the cloud that swallows up the sky