High noon at Lewis & Clark College, and grass still
holds onto dew, uncertain; dew still holds onto sunlight,
uncertain, because the moment they know how to separate,
they will begin to die a little.
Moreover, sunlight still holds onto grass and dew,
enjoying uncertainty, never desiring
to know what’s next, never wanting to feel
what it means to die a little.
Furthermore, dew’s clarity could be holding
together grass and sun and therefore earth and us,
loving our eccentricities, our daily work
of conscious evolving showing us we are born
to be tender and uncertain, the not-knowers
who discover who will never begin to die a little.
The artist never entirely knows,
but takes leap after leap in the dark,*
never knowing dying, not even a little.
*From Agnes De Mille’s advice to her dancers.
