The bell dips and arches.
Shadows fly over the field.

The lovers lock eyes. Their lips
are set, then smile. Are set again.

Leaves nipple and fan. Flame. Drop.
Salt climbs the pitch of pine.

The sea brings its gifts
to the porch of the cottage.
A child dreams at the window.

Grandmother smiles into her yarn.
Fire looks up from the hearth.

In the grass next door, plain faces
congregate the rise and fall of light.
Moss blossoms on their hymns.

The road fingers the slow waves
of the soil. Words kiss and turn
away. Things go on loving. Silence

sits down to her loom. From the fields
come slumberfew, bluefinder, bloodroot,
pearl. Their hours unfurl

in sacs of dew. How easily,
how easily I fall in love with you.

Tom Koontz
The Hopewell Review 1996