Over the Fields

So you think you're so clever that your brain
Shines like the North Star. I count forty ways
You darken every morning: there's a haze
Over the fields, the wheat, the rye, the cane,
The rapeseed, darkness like a stab of pain
Over the fields, the sunflowers, the maize,
The eglantine, as if the end of days
Were coming now, accompanied by rain.

Watch closely: what you thought was light
Is nothing but a spark of fear, a flash
Of doom, looming, three dragonflies that dash
Themselves against the window, in their flight
Towards an empty death. But you were right:
You're clever, like a last, lost, floating ash.