The Fields
i
The breath of a cow was scented by the meadows she
hoped one day to return to. There was an adage in that land that things collapse which
push too hard for connection. They pointed to the blue sky overhead, then to the lake that
held the sky steady. Not far from there, a whole brigade froze with spring just around the
corner.
ii
They hang the men, the cows
go unmilked, crops in the field burn,
and the young dream of stick coffins.
The sun, at odds with the wind,
sinks.
What gets into those breathing this long
above sea level? The airwaves are jammed
with names for such practiced killings.
