Flee to the fields, it’s a locust year
Leas & melt-water to defy the seer
A rosary around the wrists
The rope descends with tenderness
Oh they’ve got a file on me
The Venn pall of anxiety
Sticks across fences make a raucous sound
The call of the abyss, foxglove’s on the ground
Flee to the fields, take your calmative
First to arrive, always the last to leave
O the rapture of the plain, an intimation of mortality
A halcyon sketch of persistent unease hanging from the Magnolia tree