The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon’s young, trying
Their wings. […]
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.
— James Wright, Beginning, Above the River: The Complete Poems
Credits: Photo: HJK Photography with Under the Harvest Moon; Quotes: nemophilies
What a piece!
It is!
I was holding my breath the entire time…
lovely!
It is!