toward you or shadow moving
The field might be a sheet
shaken at the hands
of a luminous blonde.
It just might belly up.
Never in your life have you
been touched as you have just been
touched by light
as it moves the mown field
or the gray slate of the tilted
If the light raced, reared
on desire, the need to go anywhere
fast, it would rid itself
of the random cause of its loveliness.
If it returned, you would rid yourself
of whatever it is that keeps you
attentive to the twist and turn,
the sudden cause of your desire
to give up,
to lose yourself,
lie down in the field
and be shaken.