Hay Gathering

The earth breathes gently
tired like hands knotting
a straw hat laces,
sunset light gathers on the ground,
hot vapors raise from the grass.

The old worker is resting,
cart’s axle has deep wrinkles.
Looking straight into the sun,
a barefoot child runs on a narrow path,
staircase to the world’s attic.

People descend slowly towards home.
Life is a loaded wagon
settled in heavy haystacks
still green inside.

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Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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