Young Green

the young green are spotting the bare
spindle stalks of the aged, a
pointillist allegation
of self, a morse pronouncement of more to come

we are never so green as we are green
when we are young, we are
never so delighted by
the presence of our new color
our dotted and dashed language, we
are never so transparent, so loud
and yet so indiscernible, so
slight, so easily
seen through

I am happy to no longer be a young
green, painting the pillars of
a staid world with my
hysterical proclamations and juiced-up exclamations

I am happy to know a young
green is all I have
ever been and
all I ever will be again

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