who left the gate unlatched?
The field knows.
The dirt knows.
Neither says a word.
God,
come down from whatever
you call above.
There is a hunger
at the edge of the wheat.
There is always a hunger.
Brother, my brother,
what have we carried this far
that was never ours?
The blood?
The name?
The stone?
Look now.
The sun has made
everything innocent.
Even the knife.
Even the hand.
Beast,
come near.
What are you waiting
to become?
