← v20n2, Fall 2021
Poetry · Volume 20, Number 2

Procure a Field

Spit on the sun.

Dab your forehead.

Tire the hungry.

Feed them.

Bowels tremble.

A leg trembles.

Trees profiteer.

Rims, all

askew, green, with a golden

edge. Again a horse

swam and drowned.

There’s always juice.

There’s always a herd.

There’s always a Boer.