A Poem for Saturday: A selection from "Companion Grasses" by Brian Teare

Thank you Slate:

                        a silence endless

                                    as the air into which our fathers

                        last looked out, thinking, like Thoreau,

            “Here was no man’s garden

            […]

                                    It was Matter, vast, terrific…

                        the felt presence of a force not bound

            to be kind to man.” It’s how

            our fathers’ rest ends in us :

                        we stand & start toward the angle

                                    the afternoon light leans against

                        the long stone wall

                                    farther up the ridge : it’s there

                        the path ascends to Atlas Peak

            where we’ll bury their vision in air—