Agriculture
 
Return me
earth to earth  

as rosemary and carrot
round weevils   and wireworms writhe 

   tender greens.  In the fifth season boil 
precious metals      into a golden soup.

Bitter melon and black       
chicken bone marrow

   collagen unfolds
   wings in my mouth.

I lay inside the earth  
you pass over,  the water 

your hands gather.
In a hand-truck I rode past your houses. 

You pock the fields 
   I thought opened wild.

   Not in tailor-made rows
   of neat-sorting women

but the mouth is a tarp.
The prized chewy corn      is cool. 

Surrender and spin.    Cut through plastic. 
We are breathing today in a mask.

Your wings slice air
into the face 

   I have been trying to conjure.           Whose beauty
emerges from her grains?  

Shake my hand, hold 
   her heart

   in your palm, in the food
which is food

the earth loves 
so much it gives 

our most fragile greens 
   practically away.