*

Fireflies are lazy
          sparks above the cornfield
All our crops are possessed by some saint’s fire
Foxes under the cornstalks,
                    cornhusks, whisper to us
“No more life for the living
no more life for the dead”

*

Like a bite, some pain is simple, mechanical
Like a sting, some pain evolves
          turns and holds us close
          to be fully known
In its embrace we may ask of ourselves
how it will touch us tomorrow

*

Down in the dirt and between
                         green rows, we’ve placed snares
Even flavors can be illusions
Everything that grows from this ground
               tastes of necessity, but the foxes
don’t hear their own whispers rising

*

Moon swings across all our paths like
the needle of a compass, orients us:
                                   pendulum, weight, moon
Feels like south and south and south,
Feels like love
There are two points on a map, fixed
               yet inexplicably diverging