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In These
Fields
Tending the
corn in this way
I follow
thoughts
up and down
the stalk.
Nothing is
random; all is chaos.
It works just
fine.
And the way
to know
the secret
soil is to die,
to die like a
leaf,
a rollie
pollie, a VCR,
a pyramid,
ocean wave.
I bring my
body to you, so much
water and
wind slipping
through my
grasp. By the time
I arrive only
these thoughts
worn and
sparse.
If not this
garment, then what,
then who. . .
and who
shatters this ear
from tassel
to core?
My blue and
purple kernels,
my one moment
everywhere.
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