Come in from the fields now.
Leave aside the shovel and hoe,
the funny old trowel that your mother liked,
with its rusted head
and its handle that used to be blue.
Come in from the fields now.
Do not pause by the red rubber ball you threw
to the little boy with the curling hair
who giggled and smiled at you.
Come in from the fields now.
Turn away from that place where he turned from you,
shoulders disappearing into tall grass, then
growing taller;
steps lengthened
to strides
until
the shadow
of a man
passed over you.
Do not let the cool of that shadow chill you again,
nor stop to wonder
what sort of man he was,
running away like that.
Come in from the fields now.
Come in from the fields; do not pause even for a moment.
Quicken your steps, let your muscles lengthen and stride.
Come on quickly, please.
The door is open for you.
The lamp on the porch
with its nimbus of gnats
is singing and sighing for you,
and I am here longing for you.
I almost cried when I saw you stop,
there among the cornflowers,
all blues and oranges
caught in the light and catching
the sun.
Petals as bright as noonday,
I almost called out to you.
But I strangled the sound in the back of my throat
Let my arms drop, my hands
cease their reaching for you.
For you
were alight with the last of the day.
ablaze with the sun as it flew.
You pulsed and you burned at the back of my eyes
which are burned with the imprint of you.
Come in from the fields now
I whispered it out from the open door,
the one I’d left open for you.
I whispered it out over whispering grass
that grew taller, enveloping you.
I whispered it out to the hollowed-out dark where the shadows were dancing with you.
They will turn, don’t you see, they will turn, I won’t turn, I won’t turn, turn away
from you.
Gray comes at last,
filling in for morning.
I’ll go out to the fields now.
The trowel is there, with its rusted head.
The ball also.
It rolled in the night to the edge of the road,
lies now, half in a ditch of brown water,
one side
gone flat
like that picture of you.
I can’t see anymore how you pulsed and you burned,
how the sun caught the lighting in you.
There’s a shadow that’s left at the back of my eyes,
and it cools,
leaves the chill
of you.