The Greenness of Grass Is a Positive Quality

Samuel Amadon

Morning was when we decided if not for the grass rising then wind shifted the film even as your fingers said wind can’t shift film inside a camera.

What inside the camera couldn’t be shifted from grass rising to a tree without the film shifting the tree black we decided was purple with light between your fingers.

Was the tree light between your fingers?

Or was the curtain along the windowsill how we didn’t measure the width was where the wind was coming from?

The moment the wind was light inside the curtain was when we couldn’t keep the grass from rising inside the camera.

Or where the grass was rising inside the camera was when we couldn’t see the film was shifting light between your fingers.

The moment the tree was light between your fingers was how we ask could the curtain have kept us fastened from becoming weight?

How were we to know where we were morning wasn’t the same as leaving an outline we could picture a yard as the width we asked to carry weight.

We counted that morning as the curtain shifting to grass which suggests any measurement is always time.

We were dark or unmeasured before the morning was the moment you were both the grass and shifting the camera between your fingers.

There is no measurement for how nothing could be morning after the camera shifting grass was light between your fingers.

More by Samuel Amadon

Without Discussion

What people said, what left the table dark.
None stayed inside the house, nor close around.
Each direction its direction bound.
Like when you leave the arcing thing to arc.
Like papers gather papers in the park.
We note the wind is what can't hold the ground.
While hearing transfer stations fill with sound.
And let the city alter a remark
a little further from explaining what
was meant. A creak again or just a creak
right then. Like leaning forward on the cart.
A structure falls to stay its every strut.
I'd like to speak. I said I'd like to speak.
And someone sighs, they broke the silent part.

Days of Future Dwell

A dance professor around
her white house, which
windowed, countered,
surfaced with keys, bags,

a listing a broker found
he was proud to sell.
As grass is covered
with grass that’s mown,

why not be happy again
to find your schedule in
your hand, and all things
well. The squirrels leapt

off the branch that fell.
The technical part with
all the pieces lining up,
or already there, at work:

a something to do with
why I pick the tack
from the floor, why I
finger it like a shell. Say

the songs get longer and
the days—all of it—you
can hear it all coming,
if you’ve tied to it a bell.

 

About this poem:
"For a long time, I couldn't understand how people could write in quatrains and still look themselves in the mirror. And now, for some reason, they just feel calm and right."

Samuel Amadon

Poem in July

I felt perfected along the rectangle 
By its ragged side

Fences trees and mist dropping
Some space for the flowers

I set an image in my head where
Bushes in their out of focus

Made a green dearth about the door
I wanted to do a book on

Pages left in the heat or rain
But my desire seemingly disappeared

Picked up by a car in the middle of
A pack of cigarettes

This trip into the forest
The trees trading with memory to

Frame the various breaks
The pleasures of small laws cut

Behind the mower with my eyes
Running the grass blades

We don’t really get any older
I can see what that means