The Plow and the Reaper

Moonlight on the wide prairie

Lightly kissed the perfectly still wheat land.

Preternatural powder

Had fallen as snow.

In the distance farm houses glowed

From within.

Brilliant security lights blazed

Illuminating barns and outbuildings

Like sanctuaries of humanity

In starlit seas.

 

Silent in the midnight sky

A New Corn Moon

Settled in the palms of the Milky Way

Promising the eagerly hoped-for harvest.

 

A chill climbed my back

Spreading into the ladder

Of my ribs and chest

Settling below my sternum.

 

Who am I that this sacred mystery

Should embrace me here?

Neither friend nor lover

Has touched me as did this moment.

 

In the gasp of a spinning atom

I felt, all at once, the wink

Of the Divine.

 

In my body is the promise of generations.

The blend of my planting

With the seed of my sowing

Future eyes will open to this amazing mystery.

 

Other New Corn Moons will illumine children

Grandchildren, and their children

Warming their now un-birthed bodies

Whispering into their yet un-opened ears

The holy secret.

The secret that knows no words

Lives beyond nouns and verbs

Without structure

Yet strong with hope

Widely smiling at both

The coming of the plow

And the gathering of the reaper.