Bronze, shorn, past-ripe, dustCovers faces, boots, barnsThe roadside sumac, lilac late blooming,Lungs and hearts as a sign of blessing.The scrabbled landscape sighsIn relief. The corn had weighedIt down, as each road tilted toward thePull of corn-stalk and hay bale. It had grownTo swallow car, road, farm, mind, As September waned and withered. And now I see the Continue reading