The Greening

Pluck them out one by one 
Melancholy, dearth, unableness 
Squeeze out the poisons 
Scratch away the sting 
Let go the black balloon of wasness 

Allow the shrapnel glass 
In the ear of your ear 
To melt away like the green 
Of creme de menthe, its syrup 
Tasty as spring to the eyes of your eyes 

Taking in mountains, your mountains 
For the cobalt blue of sky 
And the languid arch of new cut grass 
To the nostrils of your awakening 
Sweet night has held your hand 

And given it the gift of rising 
Like your childhood game of leaning 
Pressure point in backward wrist 
Against the wall long enough 
That when you stand and let it be 

Uncommanded by any force you might implore
Your arm floats upward unsuspended 
To salute a weightless reach 
Where grasp is unknown as the elements of green
And the disappearance of blackened snow.