POETRY

…Dusty

beads of sweat silently slalom down every curve of the face

before accumulating in a base

formed by the shoulders neck

Face

now towards a child

an outstretched hand accompanied by a smile

…passed, lifted by the wind, away, alone, no longer in its thousands, week, insignificant, on its own.

Fields of emerald turn to swarms of golden piles

piles are swaddled in black warm and dry

the crow travels high, cross country for miles

swaddled piles of hay mark his way as he lets out a cry