Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Words once stunned the field
like sudden rain, as if Rain
were the name of a woman

whose eyes summoned, sur-
prised you in long bursts
of a downpour, stabs

of wondrous runs, her
rushed phrases soaking
the ground, pulling creeks

through the heaped soil.
Then husbandry took over:
and the dry stare

of a dry stalk, setting
one odd rock on top
of other odd rocks to

define property—words
chosen by whatever frost
pushed up, rough fitted for

balance, no stone left
in the grass to bud,
to speak.