A Field in Scurry County
Christian Wiman
Late evening, cool, September, the ground
giving its clays and contours to the sky.
The colors swirl and merge and fall back down
and for a moment, as the reds intensify,
I am a ghost of all I don't remember,
a grown man standing where a child once stood.
It is late evening. It is cool. September.
Pain like a breeze goes through me as if it could.
Christian Wiman
Late evening, cool, September, the ground
giving its clays and contours to the sky.
The colors swirl and merge and fall back down
and for a moment, as the reds intensify,
I am a ghost of all I don't remember,
a grown man standing where a child once stood.
It is late evening. It is cool. September.
Pain like a breeze goes through me as if it could.
❤4💘1
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https://open.spotify.com/track/4UwqOWDpdeIDVQDuKT6iza?si=vzBMJsFCTWu_R_rcQ8Rg6Q
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