A broken summer’s road

They still make their way

around the long curves

of this broken way.

These peasants with seeds,

silver headed elders

wrapped in bandannas and overalls and odor.

The engine of their tractor hums the steady song

of yearning to feed the nations.


I am wheat and wind beside the summer road,

realize that I am fed by mercy seed

over and over again.

And the tractor slows,

the singing quiets.

I wave to the leathered driver.

Her eyes shine inside of  the sun 

as she waves back.

I think the eyes are blue.

Sky to eye, eye to land.

We both hope that she will be down this road again tomorrow.




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