sounds

some of the grain hits the frozen ground
and bounces, like you’d expect from live
things milled for the exclusive use of
other live things. the sound of protein
on dirt and fiber of floor is a variation
never heard two thousand years ago,
when the sound of seeds sliding in
the midden and the bounce of a bone
on the rock shelter floor were softened
by the hiss of fire or the slough of sand.
the livestock shuffles in on grass-worn
feet, and next door, a vacuum sucks
what could become your heritage dinner,
locavore, if too much goes too wrong.
for now, let the grain rattle in the pan
and let the ice blue sky check it all out.
take a deep breath and think about
winter. we’ll see how this all plays out.
let some of the grain hit the frozen ground.