white washed illness
stalled plows in the field
river bones mixed--
wash out to sea
whose salt
is sweat filled
teary night--

stripped ashy trees
stand unashamed
skinny naked trees
gesturing to bald sky

bald sky bares witness
to our embarrassment
as we grow
mute
and shy--

the heavens do not know pity
brothers and sisters
circular nature
company and split self
wetlands, coast, drying fields
fertile
rusty plow oiled slick and new

the corn is high and blue ------ while
history is made in backyards
urban slews, rooftops, alleys, near the silo
behind the brush fire, in the kitchen,
on the street
mingled with place
and people

stories are being told
borrowed time
walls
lots of walls
bricked up ------ plastered
coated and invisible
like birds in tree tops
birds in tree tops with their
invisible hanging houses
searching for the morning

the morning and sound
the salty sea
north
the south sweat
river
muddy and sensuous
the bones of stories
silos and plows
noise, morning noise
and mist
mist covering--a blanket over tilled land
tilled land filled with future
and past

quiet from its past
tilled by its future
while the long hands of century
hold
element over this land