Saturday, April 9, 2011

The Fields They Flow

March 31st, 2011

Beyond angles in the eye,

Yonder upon yonder

Past town after dead town

Sprawling city to empty industry

From arctic to tropic

The fields flow so far,

Searching every corner

Every mountain

Every clime to find

The one who would pine

For their endlessness

Of numerous crops

Varieties both common and unique.

More often than not the fields’

Endlessness has matched the search

For its caretaker.

Is the tillage too intense?

Densities too high?

Microbes lacking diversity?

Ubiquitous is their denial,

Yield decreasing after each

Comes, stays, goes.

Extents shrink to scales,

Desiring more and more

The hoe of one concerned

Or the scythe of one interested.

If there be no direction from one who can see

The fields for their unending

Work and promise

Then for a worker for whom to yield

And benefit, a companion unafraid to lay hands

Upon the earth and take what it gives

With all its structure and fertility and stalk

Year after year,

Only needing gentle tending—a harvest,

Desiring a season of bounty.

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