Friday, August 26, 2011

There was a time I resolved never to repeat a poem. But I've changed my mind, so Enjoy.

      by Bruce Weigl

I didn't know I was grateful
            for such late-autumn
                        bent-up cornfields

yellow in the after-harvest
             sun before the
                        cold plow turns it all over

into never.
            I didn't know
                        I would enter this music

that translates the world
             back into dirt fields
                         that have always called to me

as if I were a thing
              come from the dirt,
                          like a tuber,

or like a needful boy. End
             Lonely days, I believe. End the exiled
                           and unraveling strangeness.

golden corn field after harvest with bent and broken stalks

from: The Unraveling Strangeness. Copyright 2003.

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