Goldenrod

I watched you gather goldenrod in the fields. I watched you swimming in the forest. And I watched you keeping your hands upon your knees.

You breathe like a scientist. And your breath becomes the count of dreams. You smell as sweet as the second-hand books you throw away.

And the caverns in the earth are not singing. And I cannot walk around the laboratory. And I cannot rest my fingers. And I cannot stay in when the sun is out.

I used to think you were a gift to the experimenters. I used to think you were a gift to the men fighting for their home.

Or the men who cry on the heaths and moors. Or the men who fall in the underground. Or the men who wait for us when the clock stops.

I watched you gather goldenrod in the fields. The sun was escaping from your hair and your feet were deep in the wet grass.

And your arms were filled with goldenrod.