Field Notes

What choice has the ox when it comes
to the edge of the field but turn

and walk to the other end? I am always
trying to balance the weight of the yoke,

the way it slides down shoulders
from the friction of years. Even when

it’s put away, I have a manner
of walking that signals furrow

and stubble before I open my mouth.
If a dove touches down, if a phoenix

or a tongue of flame in the middle
of the field, I’d feed it whatever

it is I carry if I knew how. How to hear
the sound of a different color? The bright-

ness of copper or gold, the shimmer
in the pause of just standing still.