This the first draft of a new poem.

FIELD EFFECT

I covet your house whose footings
touch the field’s edge. Barley crowding
at your windowsill, tall stalks
peering in from the perimeter,
all the host behind. And with harvest
and beyond, great knuckles of
bare earth, flints and pipe stems
gripped in scabby fists through winter. 

And you watching at that window
as one poised on the very rim, implicated
in each green shift and switch,
in each golden wither and twist inside
the shape of a day. You bear a burden,
witness: tell this world of glass and silicone
how it is, there at the god-points - the radicle,
the plumule and the bloom in flower.

pic: htp:/t/farm4.static.flickr.com/3211/2622914654_3431b7a4e4.jpg?v=0