wheat field

In the time needed to bat an eye

You come and go; a perfume of a sigh

Touching skin in gentle furrows

Unknowing strands of your hair.

By sensation, a trace and image

Linger, so fleeting yet firm;

a memory made of fractioned time.

Convincing as any reality

I continue to see the glimmered

light and golden strands.

I think of wandering through a field

Ripe soft wheat expressing the winsome winds

Ahead, the blue sky frames edges of the trees

To making mounds and hills of leafy boughs

And to whistled brush of winds that speak

In a welcoming tongue, we run as if entranced

And footfalls make a dance of eager smiles.

Field’s end, we fall into moistened shade

And detect the laughter of a nearby brook

As body heat dissembles mossy ground into a bed,

I roll over to face full red lips;

 in a moment that cannot yet decide

Whether to bridge to ground or sky.