“Pursue agriculture.” The Rig Veda “Replenish the Earth.” The Bible
In red dusk a door opens,
a man jumps out of his tractor, takes down his overalls
and lies deep with furrows he has made.
For ten minutes he doesn’t mind his wife or what his sons will say
when they know.
Only the woman in the field matters.
Black furrows braided over her shoulders, the sky painted red
with desire for him.
The woman in the field makes him do what must be done.
The farmer knows
black dirt takes the perfect shape of his hands and of his belly
so the corn comes stiff and green from his seed
and when he finishes his labor, there is the wise tractor silently approving.
There is the sky with no end to it.