everyone’s saying

haying takes time

from the bow of an earthship gliding

so down the rows a curvy elliptical hanging band of thread stalks

bags rolls square bales heaping up

okay

she needs to be around a lot of animals at one time

her dogs hunting

my cats hiding in cardboard boxes

you taking memories to go

deer and raccoons snacking on leftover bits in the wild places

mother child strangely peeling off in a different sad brokedown Jeep

on a tear on the racecourse of Sunday’s grueling events

the little darling

wears a string of Russian amber

placing red rainboots on the running board

then leaps into the baler cab manure smells wafting

with the raggedy seats fuming

for like hours the haying the hay

closer