Farm girl

Furrows, made by my brothers, waver

under a faintly speckled midday sky

and collide where they touch

its lower layer of lighter blue.

The table has been laid and in the

short span that leaves my hands empty

I inspect the shades in the orchard

before the cool kitchen is invaded.

Everything is itself now, a falcon

presides over the farm's airspace,

the wind vane hesitates, bees forage

the lupines in the garden beds.

While the grass alleviates my bare

feet, I dream of finding love that is

as warm and wide and full of life as

this moment that finds me waiting.

Then the horde arrives and as I am

carried inside, protesting, laughing,

I wish that what I am and have will

one day yield a harvest similar.