A smile sewn across his face,
he
embraces life in the fields,
a
daily witness to the sun,
wind,
warm summer rain,
to
the moon and its phases
mystical
and wise in the messages
it
fans across the sky like a Tarot deck
that
explains the what, the where, the why.
He
does not regard his life as crucifixion,
but
as fruitful freedom to watch
the
birth of seeds and the inevitable
falling
of life into fallow fields.
He
is witness to it all.
His body will soon be hidden
by
a green field of corn.
In
the winter he will be deposed,
sleep
in the barn while angels sing,
really
just the keen wind
whipping
through slats in the wall.
He
dreams of a floppy hat,
a
checkered shirt, faded jeans,
confident
that he will rise again,
leave
the wood-straw tomb
and
once more revel in the field,
the
corn,
the
pastures,
and
wildflowers
crazy
with Solomon’s bloom.
~William Hammett
Site Map
No comments:
Post a Comment