THE FIELD

The field’s owner observes it with a wise, somewhat distant eye,
Gathering its edges
Within the borders of her open eyelids.

In I burst with a bounty of weeds,
Pouring cheeky nectar into petal-cups held out on its reeds,
And all that I am not in it –
And all that I am not offered –
Overflows
The bounds of the field.

I’m all outside –
A puddle exposed and fearing
Tucked at the edge of the grounds.

The field’s owner bends down,
Sinking into me an inquisitive eye,
While her other eye marks
A field of a thousand bounds.

THE FIELD