night, walking down the

campus old (or new?)

is the grass i glanced at

different than last fall's?

or the same, because of roots

i am from colorado springs, colorado

meaning color red, the dirt that

is.

still, the night named grass

and the moving morning did too.

at least the concrete is the same,

or seems. [ a layer was washed off

in the last storm ]

limestone is the old, weighs

the buildings down to place,

to the tannish dirt, that

is,

and was;

a sooty film paints itself

on the porous face

of each stone, and all together;

makes an imprint cloud.

walking, the burden of

reality rests on the perceiver,

like on the grass, dew.

i am not the same,

[ beads of sweat on my face

like rain, were in an instant ]

but my name is

and was.