Turning points
The gold is still heavy
thick as oil paint on the fields
and the air rustles with voices
the dry corn husks
a muttering ocean
of summer ebbing
and the warbler is singing again
a conversation with himself
in the quiet before the cranes
rattle the roof of the sky
with their hooligan cries
winter on their tails
Turning points The gold is still heavythick as oil paint on the fieldsand the air rustles with voices the dry corn husksa muttering oceanof summer ebbing and the warbler is singing againa conversation with himselfin the quiet before the cranes rattle the roof of the skywith their hooligan crieswinter on their tailsRead MoreJane Dougherty Writes
