Walking This Abandoned Field | Steve Abbott

Walking this abandoned field I am looking for something inside myself, an old
shovel perhaps or some evidence of planted seed.
I come upon a tree
much like one I used to climb as a boy & lying down, my eyes
roam over the frayed hatband of evening sky.

This is how I used to feel loving you.
How sweet the air smelled then, like rain in Nebraska after a field was plowed.
Now all I can see is this tree & the memory of how high we once climbed.

Everything All at Once | Oliver Baez Bendorf

right now,

someone is having sex and someone is dying and someone is trying to find a lid so they can, before bed, put away the soup and someone is dreaming of that meadow and someone is gazing through a hospital window to a faraway peak and someone can't decide what to watch so they remain

on the menu screen for company and someone wants to call but
can't and someone wants to answer but won't and someone is studying

to become a moth scientist and someone is dizzy and doesn't know why and someone is, after work, practicing the vocal techniques of opera and someone receives

a phone call saying listen it's my
neighbor I told you about the singing one can you hear it and someone

is clutching the heavy still warm hand of a lover and someone is digging a hole and someone is waxing their back and someone
is remembering a poem permitting bits and pieces to return and someone

would do almost anything to forget