hear the chill lines upon the vap’rous field
in pumpkin light the doe and fawn are feeding,
sing softly now in this bright broken frock
old women on wood porches smell the dawn
cramped hands curled with lost labor and musing,
see the chill lines upon the vap’rous field
young girls lie abed, spent with jungle dreams
of shimmy-shuffle love and summer sun,
sing softly now in this bright broken frock
truck-men rumble the roads through fog and field
parry the kills on the pitiless pavement,
smell the chill lines upon the vap’rous field
two brief small boys gather fat muddy eggs
at a goose pond, their cold shoes soaked with dew,
sing softly now in this bright broken frock
in pumpkin light the doe and fawn are feeding
in shadowed stubble the killdeer are rousing
orange dawn through pine and ash is pleading
feel the chill lines upon the vap’rous field,
sing softly now in this bright broken frock
Without my glasses I read the last line as “on this broken, friggin’ rock”. It was funny at the time.