Owner

The morning sun surveys the time for me,
Sets the stakes, guides me to the meadow,
Shows me green acres of unmarked land,
Opens my eyes with the fire of farmer’s lust.

I draw the first furrow as if I had signed
A blank check or taken a strange wife,
Indelible marks of beginnings point out
A rule of thumb I use to set my sights,

As I straddle the field, on the crop to come.
I sidestep the tractor at a killdeer’s nest,
Then shear off the heads of a million worms,
Running my lines as if I owned the future.