The poem begins as a quiet scene: wind moving through wheat, and a woman's hair lifting above her shoulders. The imagery blurs her with the landscape. Her gown, her body, even "pebble, creek bed" seem to melt into the earth around her. Meanwhile a thin, dark man stands among the stalks, tense and twitching, his eyes locked on her far-off figure. He reaches toward a "ghostly sun," wanting to touch, but the poem never says he does.
Then it shifts to a first-person voice describing feverish dreams. The speaker seems to see himself in the watcher: desire turns into fragmentation, with "scattered selves" rushing like light along a spider web toward a "shrivelled world." The mood is hungry and uneasy. Beauty looks pale and unreachable, and the wanting itself feels like it's pulling the speaker apart. Judging by the imagery, the field may be as much a dream as a place.