ITS FIELDS green wing of the hill a world in flight the creek's hands working all day on the stones' tumble singing the knock at dawn woodpecker working overhead hunger lifts him there and the young tree which storms shook shaking with new leaves broken out broken at her feet the body feasted on the heart torn open when the talons pulled air layered light and heavy storms from the heights whirling lightning from dark nests flies singing a night coming full of shaking and singing a night drawn over us deep in us working all through our sleep and breaking open its fields of us