September 23
Across morning's early fall fields
Where summer-sleek cattle
Fold themselves down onto
The turning earth
Sea gulls swoop under
Lowering grey clouds
Full of waiting rain
In the distance I see
The Amish farmer, clad in
Black work clothes,
His straw hat near-gold in
An unexpected shaft of sunlight
That disappears back into
The vast roil of nimbus as
Quickly as he does,
Ducking into his barn,
Shouldering harness
Ephemera, all of it,
Passing whole in my
Sidelong glance,
Wending west, going home.
Lyrical, wholesome, whole.
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