{on the farm}

each day has its taste. early in the morning the sun shines pink and lavender over the horizon line. the edge of the earth, and into a space that is far beyond my comprehension makes such a seemingly tangible and mysterious beauty. the air is moist with dew, my mind clears the fog of sleep, and eyes open. similar, the sky does daily. a secret love blossoming in my chest, swelling like the tide and just as often. resounding like the hushed, frequent coos of mourning doves. here we will grow the most delicious vegetation. i will think so. our cattle graze. in the east. near the water. my body, my thoughts and will are practiced and uniform. this labour is all i ever wanted, through all the days i spent in inconsolable sorrow. a solitude so satisfying. gathering the dirt in my hands, echoing the internal quietness of love. a sole witness to its flavours and aroma. the crops are solid but fragile, like children; like my body, taught and tanned by the sun that also soothes the soil into development. as this pasture, i will grow old here. i will bare nakedness and love; harvest them and prove their delicate sincerity. the soft, affectionate caress planted across the lips of life. such a simple small existence. it is mine. one can hardly feel it, but its subtlety is overpowering. my children, conceived through such a love. someday they too will work the earth with strong and tiny hands. blond and bashful, becoming themselves through hot, introspective summer days. where they look out upon the land, and take in its still and solemn beauty. each day a bountiful yielding of thought and reflection. i will die on this land, which such a peaceful gratitude. a husband at my side, and family looking on. as this woman leaves her body forever. this was all i asked for.