“Call Them Crushes”

 

Pale grass where the bull lies –
tomorrow the scythe and cut haze:
farming is the oldest form –
getting what you give, the thief comes
when it's out of your hands.

Stand, then, as a ragged scarecrow
till you are the kernels. Let it come –
let it go. The only motion,
the only action, the only love, the only
possible is falling and not seeing the falling –

and each frost makes fire and falls.
Cause is the only question,
the only unnecessary.

 

 

n e x t

 

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