a morning crow calls.
Footsteps on a metal grate,
a distant church spire rises.
Green river swollen, over its banks, rushing
trees midstream, below water, roots submerged
a man in a garden shed, stands
where the hoes and rakes are kept.
Small leaves glow soft yellow . . .
Sheep nibble wet alfalfa cotton
metal wheels grind metal rails
moving through the wheat
Crops in abandon, buildings in
abandon
people walking,
with
abandon.
The trees grow, no one stops them.
Even we,
would not wish to stop them.
