There is a way to open your body
to the land, like a lover.

There is a way to read the mood
of the soil, like a prophet.

Out here, crows are omens, and clouds
ambassadors of the August sky.

There is a way to synchronize
your pulse, to learn the cadence.

This is the only way
to fill your basket.

*Note: This poem also appears in Vintage Poetry:
Written by pyrategurrll (Lauren Tivey)
Published | Edited 3rd Oct 2011
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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