Permissible summer

and static air

truth hangs low

waiting to precipitate

Confidence into my pores,

commend her dripping beauty

fluid, speak life

like we are still wriggling out of the ocean

Cotton clinging

and I attempt to snatch these metaphors,

I gaze half intently at the furiously moving dirt

to understand why

pervasive and complex, a wish, an expectation

it’s the simplicity of which I fear

an afterthought, a careless blunder

but life is insistent

and I too, answer her bidding

The Field of Vision

you must sow and you must toil

Each rising moon

Don’t presume her cyclical nature

I’m reeling from the reaping, head hung inside my hands

Who is well-versed on these sins

Guide me down the rows

Salted face and peppered smile

on the heat of the day

and holy water from the skies

Dry your eyes, little one

Open, your Field of Vision

crack that barren earth and call her forth

she vines and meanders

But you will be straight and narrow

row, and grind, and grow

What’s to know, but what lies quietly

inside the Field

Waiting to be taught