Because they sway in slightest wind,
because their common posture is bending,
because in their slenderness they remind us
of girlhood, of headbands in pastel colors,
of bracelets that slide along wrists,
because some are variegated meaning splotched
with white along with green, celery,
emerald, chartreuse,
because some people can put a grass blade in their hands,
blow on it to make it whistle,
because I cannot, even with practice,
because grasses have seedheads instead of blossoms,
amber, weighted, inherent with promise,
because the amber turns silver with the seasons,
as though it were the hair of the elders,
how they go before us, swaying, creaking, whispering
of resurrection and the glories of transformation,
in many tongues, in a multi-part chorus woven from wrens,
chickadees, and great-crested flycatchers.
