Shared with The Mag.



A DREAM OF FIELDS

I lay on my side in the sun, the spilled world 
stacked behind my shoulder.  In my left eye, 
the blue sky; in my right, the green grass.  And  
dividing, yellow, the line of the shape-shifting corn.  
You wander away, climbing the ladder of stalks, 
scribbled like pastel strokes on the symmetry,
but real as breathing in a dream of fields.