I bend to the ground <br />to catch <br />something whispered, <br />urgent, drifting <br />across the ditches. <br />The heaviness of <br />flies stuttering <br />in orbit, dirt <br />ripening, the sweat <br />of eggs. <br /> There are <br />small streams <br />the width ofa thumb <br />running in the villages <br />of sheaves, whole <br />eras of grain <br />wakening on <br />the stalks, a roof <br />that breathes over <br />my head. <br /> Behind me <br />the tracks creaking <br />like a harness, <br />an abandoned bicycle <br />that cries and cries, <br />a bottle of common <br />wine that won't <br />pour. <br />At such times <br />I expect the earth <br />to pronounce. I say, <br />"I've been waiting <br />so long." <br /> Up ahead <br />a stand of eucalyptus <br />guards the river, <br />the river moving <br />east, the heavy light <br />sifts down driving <br />the sparrows for <br />cover, and the women <br />bow as they slap <br />the life out <br />of sheets and pants <br />and worn hands.<br /><br />Philip Levine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/noon/
