Sons

New grain, you are comely; 
Long, straight, supremely vernal. 
Standing in Earth’s sun 
Unashamed green, 
You sway. 

I am a swimmer through 
Your fenceless waves. 
I watch you, 
Potent, hypnotic. 

Young wheat, tender, flawless plants, 
For me, the sight of you 
And prophecy 
Are nourishment enough. 

One white day the harvesters will come. 
You will sing as the sickle swings. 
They will draw up cords about you. 
They will dance on the threshing floor where 
You will sleep the sleep of Boaz 
And wake to the sight of the Gleaner 
At your feet, 
Chaff decorating her hair.