poppies [rolling edits]

the definite bisection is imagined
and there are no poppies, signifying
nothing. indifferent men hush
then drain pink over obscured mouths

in this place
no decision

then her — flesh tensing, urgent light spun
kicked off browned-cadmium brick
beside the dun and sand
and oil, lacking comport
bisection of nothing, of nowhere

in this place
no decision

a many-whirled pink existence
they must not be souls nor poppies
those who Are will not survive
its love its loss
the closer they bend, the more real

in this place
no decision

and out toward the burnt horizon, the hanged sky
under blockage, they are small, disassociated
real, though with no sun to create them, incongruous
those who Are — or are Still — refuse abstraction

in this place
no decision

out toward this minor & faraway bough
men lay across the road, without affect
and beside them all, a pair prepares to break
to bend outward
his hand leaves her side, her hands from his

in this place
no decision

the field is ready for harvest
the fields are ready for harvest

(for Anseml Kiefer)