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.