harvest

Providence smiles, and the sea returns treasures long lost
forgotten, they appear as gifts, entangled
but in the dark before the dawn,
gears gnash, truths bared, stars collide,

in the place where plains and marshes reign
the land has been smoothed by hand and by time
freshwater bodies sustain superstitious beasts of iron
roads cross at odd angles before paling and dropping away

and her blonde hair gently teased
falls down,
across her tall and broad, uniformed shoulders
scatters over her utilitarian,
burgundy Strack and Van Tills coat
like jellyfish tendrils bleeding sunlight
falling freely and freely floating
in the inviting salt waters
of an evening, summer tide
somewhere well along the Keys
turn, don't turn,
to the rising sun, like a diamond revealed
in some hoosier farmer's fertile bean field

the retreating snow, cold, spring rains fall
in the silt and sand, gleaming blood and regret
earthworms serpentine and twist
a billion freshly provoked tentacles
firm, red macintosh and crisp, granny smith,
fondled, then squeezed,
tightly twisted and suffocated
trophied into their own separate, transparent bags,
fruit forgotten save for the root cellar
stay, don't stay, but hurry,
one must not linger
lest everything perfect, everywhere, becomes undone