Burn the Cocoons

The sun waits in the sky for me
as I crawl slowly toward his feet
dragging the field I’m working in
that will be finished when we meet.

All day across the field I’ve come,
the seeder’s whine my only note,
shivering as an east wind picks
the berry of flesh inside my coat.

The rising tide of sap has furred
the maple twigs with fires of green
burning away the grey cocoons
webbed on my eyes till I have seen

the land that I have got to sow
stretch like a plain into the sun
filled with crops I hope to grow
out of the seeding I’ve begun.