Scythe -

The way things fall should tell us something,
like the slivered yellow leaves
on the concrete walk,
that, dampened by rain, turned treacherous
and tossed you against me;
a cool shoulder on my chest ,
a warm glance,
an Easter of white gloves.


You fed me sunflower seeds,
fragments of meaty, bitter taste,
a tumble of fingers pressed to lips
spilled grain over my thighs,
and one which fell into my boot,
making me wonder as I walked
if one golden bloom had died to fill the paper bag,
or if a field of shimmering beings had showered the ground
with tiny black bits of themselves
to satisfy your hunger.




Landis
nov 2, 1990