Open Field. A Poem.

The clouds tucked and turned southwest,

a direction they rarely float,

bringing a cool stream of air over

the back fields.


The repentant sky cap

chills weighted thoughts,

and drags me into the undertow

of humility and regret.


Humilty, common and unnoticed,

like the spaces between the tall grass,

keeps the silence safe, smooth,

secure for a moment.


Regret, staunch, abrasive as nettles,

scratch at the ankles

while I pace the fields

like a labyrinth.


Come, lay me down,

cover me with your kindness

as the dew.

Until then I walk the fields.

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