Green's Dream

I don’t know why I hang hope in haggard hearts, and I like that line like green shoots of grass tickling my feet, thinking I have a resistance to cortisol. It is gloomy here, you’d know if you ever looked out the window and I just want to hunker in and hunker down but not yet and maybe not ever, I will live in rolling green fields. Maybe I'll own a farm and always have friends over. A patron of friendship and hubris. Someone needs to guard our joy, letting us live it widely and over bottles of wine and good things like pasta and cream and the jokes we’ve been telling for years. I think I would preside over it all and they would thank me for creating the space but my active participation would never be begged or even noticed. Letting them laugh, the only song I could sing forever. And our skin would get all wrinkled and I would tell myself I miss the city but I don't think I would ever actually mean that because there would be life teeming in the fields. Peaches I think, and I don’t know why I want that or olives, definitely olives and tomatoes. It would all be color and I would find skyscrapers again, laying on my back watching the grass sway over my head like being on the 51st floor, the floor shakes and comes back again. And I would always be alone in those moments until a shout breaks the breeze and beckoning back, I rise. And shuffle back to the table teeming with fruit and velleities and the stories I’ll hear for the first time a thousand times again.