Meaning

For what, is the grass?

The grass is here to be grass,
to be green or blonde
in the rain or sun,
to grow sweetly or not at all,
covering the earth
or fighting a few tendrils through the rock—
just to be grass,
as the rock is here to be rock.

But people—
for what, are people?
We do not know,
anymore than we understand what it is just to be people,
to grow as the grass grows,
stand as the rock stands.

Is it any wonder
that we weep?

But then. . .
we are not grass.
We are not rock.
Perhaps. . .
perhaps that is what we are.
More than grass.
More than rock.

As much myth as meat.