from FIELD SONGS

from FIELD SONGS

Mapping the ground
In measured footsteps
Where certain stones
Mark territorial edges
Lying in places overgrown
Obscured in undergrowth
Older than ancestry
Marking boundaries
Touchstones that
Give me a grounding
To work in my field
A measured space
In which to dig.
I walk out into the field and look
With an untutored eye
Across the meadow.
I notice the lengthening shadow of trees
The soil under my feet is unknown
Where my spade wants to dig
For a moment I pause
As if trespassing on another's land
Uncertain, I've chosen a fertile plot
In which to dig.
The blade slices cleanly
Through the surface veneer
Of densely woven grasses
Down to a spade's depth
Levered and turned
And repeated
Releasing a warm smell
Of humus and promise
The earth is kind and yielding.

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