back inside the property, a decay brought by seasons;
paddocks eaten into harvest are still,
brown soil dreams of green, aged stalks swinging
from the earth, beaming out of charred yellow wounds,
old structures: plump as berries on the land,
stand in place.
a weary farmer walks two greyhounds
down an alleyway, halting
to piss beneath a silo,
his folded eye stretching borderlines from the shade.
today comes a vision stuffed into silent growth;
farmlands in development have met the city,
Woodstock, masked, breathes from her sleep
pushing smoke down a busy asphalt road
from Rain Season (2013)