You thought you were on the prairie, you thought

the corn yellow,

you thought the bees.

But look forward into the day: the sun will rise

wherever you ask me to call it.

I wish you could have seen me

ride the grey horse through the pasture like a hearse,

dividing the grasses.

I wish you could have seen the foxglove

genuflect and wither,

the grains capitulate.

I wish you could have seen the seedpods

split early and die to spill their atoms.

The new world will be lush

with what I have caused. Even the sky

cleaves and releases its blue with the pitch of my hand.