Of the Fields

we are of the fields,
earth-mated you and I,
stems and roots,
secondary roots, too,
all entwined
in each other's soil;

our lives have graduated
from one seed
that grows two shoots,

glimmering with dewy
firewater in spring,
that burns with the glare
of summer's furnace;

we've become saturated
in autumn's rain,
warmer climes furrow in us
under the white of winter;

and under each season
the sun joins the moon
for an eclipse of the kind
that is a sign
of our nightly inauguration;

we die, but are born again
in these fields;
buds open to feed and bring
a fragrance so seductive,
we unthinkingly fall in

the garden's warm canvas
where the planting begins.

From the collection: "The Story of Living Things" >>

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