in the dark, the irrigated field is a bottomless well.
as if the land drops away beside the road,
first, mud lined with weedy elms,
then darkness, a void, a waiting.
small crackling sounds inform the night,
the dry earth drinking, cracking open
last fall’s wizened crow’s feet, to pull the water in.
satiation is water standing in the field, silent.
beneath the mud, seeds turn.
all you can see are stars.