spring flows all around us or ought to <br />each field of corn is taut <br />with its arrows and bows <br />our hands can't contain <br />all the good gifts <br />of appetite and war <br /> <br />I keep counting the day <br />that shakes the calendar <br />It is me between you <br />making eager X's <br /> <br />We subsisted on shucks <br />and gathered in the sheaves <br />to the animal earth <br />living outside the retina <br />like a secret <br /> <br />Blind as corn and armed <br />to the eyes <br />Stethoscopes hang from every ear <br />Everyone wants <br />the combination <br /> <br />The road accelerates <br />below us, a country <br />of plumblines <br />the only curve the <br />telegraph swell <br /> <br />In all this flatness we <br />try anyway <br />learning to jump <br />as best we can <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />(1974)<br /><br />Mike Finley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-kansas/
