• Architecture

    Noah Warren

    Spring 2019

    In the complex center, the field
    where in the early afternoon
    I would sit and rest. A broad
    polished path of red-gray granite
    cut it exactly on four sides, held it;
    no path led out or in;
    here I would sit, the pristine
    salad beside me, sensing
    a forgetting taking place
    lightly in the back of my brain.
    The grass that filled this space
    was of at least four different species,
    not counting clover or the tight mosses
    that volunteered, and so at any time
    I might observe hues that ranged from whitened lime
    to olive, to lustrous blue-green, to a deep forest
    green so dark, when soaked or shadowed,
    I took it for black. Each species grew
    at such different rates—St. Augustine fastest,
    then bluegrass, bentgrass, and the wan fescue
    (which dominated, or rather outlasted
    these rivals on a sandy ridge

    Noah Warren is the author of  The Destroyer in the Glass,  winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets. A former Stegner Fellow, he lives in San Francisco and is a pursuing a PhD in English at UC Berkeley. 

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