I rise among
the rippling rows
that hug the contours
of the field. Golden
tassels touched with
cinnamon hues stand
tall above the corn
that strangely forms
a wall along either
side of this Donegal road.
We are called into
symmetry with these
plants; in this geometry
of dirt and soil. At
home in this casual
beckoning. At peace
in this simple dance.
Among, with, above,
along, in, and finally at.
Always heeding the request.
Join me.
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