Walk the Blue Fields

Flame under flame, until the day ends. The cricket’s reverie impregnates sweet deliveries,


gullibly Thoreauvian amongst the green nostalgias, dewy and unreturned. Do not confuse the


red lines on the horizon with the reeds bending in my pupils. Out of focus, back inward. I need


you to understand how much this all matters to me. Sensitive branches, bequeathing every


lost season. Leave the upstairs window, descend the staircase. Follow a row along the shifting


brilliances. Out of focus, now zooming in. Barefoot. Leave it all behind, even a clean grace,


to walk the blue fields.