This poem is taken from PN Review 230, Volume 42 Number 6, July - August 2016.
Four Poems
High Wind
for Adam Crothers
My father ploughing
on the hill:
a ground beetle
trailing a flight wing.
The cattle sound off
in the barn;
soon they will learn
the grass. The sound of
the flight of swallows
overhead
is overheard
chatter caught mid-flow.
A gust blows the trees
wide open –
they hiss like rain
on fire. The eye sees
one thing the heart reads
another;
in such weather
...
for Adam Crothers
My father ploughing
on the hill:
a ground beetle
trailing a flight wing.
The cattle sound off
in the barn;
soon they will learn
the grass. The sound of
the flight of swallows
overhead
is overheard
chatter caught mid-flow.
A gust blows the trees
wide open –
they hiss like rain
on fire. The eye sees
one thing the heart reads
another;
in such weather
...
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