It would start on a sidewalk of
smoothed cement with worn edges.
Turn sideways and view
the swamp. A thin stream curving
S wise through, grasses six feet
high. So, you walk
down, stopping as the green is
above your head. But you're
not frightened. The sidewalk is just there.
And this green, growing is only a wall.
It's standing when your breath becomes faster.
You really can't see.
And it becomes important, though you
know you are safe now, to see. What if.
Anything, anything could happen.
So with silly looking grabs, you pull
the razor grasses down around you.
Look out across the swamp and see a
smudged green horizon. Circling now
seeing only that. That, that calms you.
The green rests your eyes. Firmer ground
is right there. If you walk through,
you would sink in mud and detritus.
You could end up in swimming;
muddying up your body from
knees to thigh to waist to chest to neck.
But right there, a smudged green cool
waits for you. You can leave now or
come back later, even go forward now.
No, you will get to there if you wait
long enough. The grasses will wilt
and freeze, the ground solidify
until you can go, given
permission by a new cold world
to walk again toward green paradise.
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