each word I lay down before you
on the ground and at your feet
is a word too many
the cold grass beneath
fresh mown just wet
by the moon
it lies a day
now waiting for the sun
a hand covering its mouth
a hand hiding the joke
waiting for how
fresh mown grass
laughs
looks at me
sits up
laughs laughs laughs
each word
true word laughs
laughs
in delight
like a bed you have to
make
laughs
fresh
mown and smooth
fresh mown and glad
the grass laughs with a hand
over its mouth
and each word I later apparently gently
lay down before you on the new grass at your precious feet
is a word too many that laughs and will laugh
Translated by David Colmer