Of the earth,
the field,
the known place.
The known.
Walk over to the word
and take its hand,
it squeezes back,
you hear it
halfway to your heart.
That is what it means
‘to mean,’
to be in the middle
of something and know
where you are.

2.
The sky looks sunshine
the trees look rain.
And now the trees light up—
surrealism never lasts,
the farmer leans
again on his shovel,
the dirt pretends to part—
the natural politeness of physics
can be counted on
but not too far.

3.
So I wonder
like everyone before me
whose breath
is the wind?
The question
does not get old,
the answer
shimmies ever
off through the trees,
‘trees’ hear meaning
whatever we see
as we go on breathing.
Asking. Digging.

4.
There is a big field
not far from here
where you can stand and see
almost to the horizon
on all sides. Nowadays
you have to stand
up to your shoulders in corn
but still. Horizons
in a land of forests!
Come with me,
help me to see so we
can look all ways at once,
maybe finally
get a sense of what
a field really is,
coaxing the light down.

4 September 2020