Until I reclined
in summer's warmth,
aroused by the fragrance
of fresh cut grass,
blades piercing into my flesh;
I didn't believe
I was back home from the hospice --
back stricken
from the conflict
of the surgeon's scalpel:
I started to rise
but the weight of the sun
flaunted my weakness,
Drunkenly, I climbed the hilltop
like a child, wrapped
in the sweet fragrance of grass.