TO THE POET WHO STOOPS TO HEAR ME

—a whisper from a blade of grass

Bend low, dear poet—
yes, lower still—
for I am not tall,
but I am eternal.

I have known the weight of dew
as you have known sorrow.
I have danced in sunlight,
and been trampled by those
who never looked down.

But you…
you saw me.
Not as a thing, but as a voice.
And for that, I will sing:

I am the sigh between earth and sky.
I am the green hush in your breath.
I am a line in the poem
that God never finished—
waiting for you to write it.

So write gently.
Live slowly.
And remember:
even I,
a single blade,
am enough to hold the entire sky
in my trembling body.

:: 07.01.2025 ::