The golden furrows have a wonderful movement in the field pushing my eye to the house and the hills beyond where the movement via brurhstrokes sweeps my eye to the left. I can imagine walking in this field to the farmhouse and a meeting (?) with whoever (?) is there.
In a no fouled place
An oasis of houses
Between an ocean
Of wet aromatic turned over field
And the gigantic restful wave
Of the Noble Mountain,
Petrified forever.
Stomping between these furrows
I hear the shattering field whisper:
"O I am breathing again".
And suddenly I do not know really why
I shed tears of happiness.
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