Against his chest, a man cradles seeds
pillowed in his shirt’s lifted hem.

A wide stride and swung arm release
them to earth. He aims at his shadow

planted before him. Two crows follow,
guzzle what he throws. His hat, clothes, skin,

the field composed of blue, white, gold dots,
dashes, strokes and furrows in motion, a brew

of opulence to come. In the distance, a farmhouse,
two scraggly trees. The looming, molten sun dips

behind rows of wheat. Light rays cascade a glut
of lines and specks, a last hurrah of incandescence—

particles of stars to come, remnants that comprise
air, soil, humans, all alive in this realm.



Karen L. George is the author of five chapbooks and three collections from Dos Madres Press: Swim Your Way Back (2014), A Map and One Year (2018), and Where Wind Tastes Like Pears (2021). Her work appears in Adirondack Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Indianapolis Review, Salamander, Poet Lore, and I-70 Review.

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