Saturday, June 21, 2008


There are fields and fields of chases
countless poppies, wheat shafts
gopher holes littered like land mines
ready to twist any ankle that turns
around such entry to a home.

I will not chase you - no
instead, I will lie flat between
the golden heads, contemplate sky
listen for the sound of your feet
as you return slowly, weary of hunt
your long legs sinking tender over mine.

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