IN A CORNFIELD AFTER HARVEST

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“I hear the surface of the river say, Go deeper.”

Before the stubble is knocked down, gathered
into piles for burning
I walk alone through dry rattling corn to make a hollow
in the center of the field.

When I believe I can’t be seen by passing farmers
I pull stalks up by the root
and lay them down in a circle as spokes of a wheel.
Then I dance inside this circle I have made
moving the way the moon moves around our earth.

In the next field they are already burning.
North, South, East and West, flames
in all directions, the cries of hawks flying into
and out of smoke.

It does not take long to make an opening in the earth
to go down into her
and because I am a man who loves the sound of his own voice,
I pray.

Every moment I am alive, I am enamored with my self.
I go down into the earth and I come out teeming with prayer.

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MEN PRAYING AROUND A FIRE

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Men stand in a circle turned inward to a fire.

The backs of our heads make a wall.

Our faces are doors shut against the possibility of rain.

Eyes are leaded panes of glass in which fires crouch.

We pray that the world is more than a carnival of atoms.

Breathe in the smoke of our own selves burning.

Hold up empty hands asking you to make them

emptier.

 

 

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