Our Thoughts Trundle

​Our thoughts trundle,
Big black beetles, going
Somewhere important,
When we start hoeing,

They act surprised, why
Should they get out
Of the way? The thin
Grapes wrinkle in the drought.

There’s a murmur, a
Throat-clearing in
The sky, a fresh flash
Of slashing wind, a din,

Skin soaked, the smell
Of earth and grass, a crack
Of light crackles, a silver
Vein flashing through a black

Field, and for this moment
The earth is rich and good,
And the clouds drift and
The moon throws back her hood.