Sow

early hours of
Spring's early days
he goes to court the field

kneels low to
earthen furrows
drawn by iron and sweat

his brow still
bearing the dew
of his heavy burdens

he bows low
to that of which
his body came and eats

he kneels to
the bare earth
to caress its flesh

he feels its
warmth rise
in the early hours

a naked lover
rising at the dawn
under sheets of dew

his fingers slip
across the crusted dirt
that has sipped the falling rain

his forefinger
presses through that
skin to soft moist soil

his finger
seeks its warmth
lying underneath

the warmth
to tempt his hand
to spill and sow the seed

his finger
must feel that
warmth to know

the warmth
when right will
tell him when to sow

to drill the
stark earthen flesh
and spill and fill with seed

the bare field
yet waits for feel
of drill and spill of seed

too early in
the days of Spring
he has come to court the field