Come on down, he said
bottle in hand, the earth is
I spent the night with her, she's a good woman
when she wants to.
He squints, we part odd grasses
not as friends just feet that plod ahead
the rise and fall of us the same as dust.
I turn around, behind me Kansas.
Had a wife, he said, couldn't take the winters
I nod twice, up ahead
a ride beckons at the pumps.
Four nights it froze, fields don't get
any fairer, see for miles if you want to
see him furrowed all too soon
a farmer's gift lies uneaten
stubble his down, earth-side, the cradled tongue
speaks of new fallen snow.
No words for it -
or the reaching of warm ever into cold
the sound of a horn so near to you
that is steady yet quietly blowing.