Undulating trees
Swaying clouds
By your intertwined giddy curves
You underline the straight skyline
Of the wheatfields
With their overheating horizontal layers,
Smoothed golden
And the nearly unbroken procession
of the wild grass clumps,
Tenderly green
On the path,
Try to reach the heavenly mountains
In the distance,
vaporously blue.
I looked for closure in an open field of gold, but found none.
Unanswered questions lay in waiting,
like threshed stalks,
trampled by time, and silence.
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