-This poem reflects on moonlight crossing a harvested cornfield, where broken stalks, rain-filled ruts, moving husks, and the first frost reveal the stark beauty left behind after the crop has been gathered.
The moon climbs past the eastern field,
a pale disk through the harvest haze,
and lays its light on broken stalks
that shine like bone between the rows.
The loosened husks turn in the wind,
their paper edges scrape the ground,
while mice move under fallen leaves
and one owl calls beyond the barn.
The tractor ruts, still filled with rain,
hold narrow pieces of the moon;
the fence wire crosses silver grass,
the open gate frames empty fields.
By midnight, frost begins to form
along the stubble’s splintered ends;
one black crow feather near the lane
turns silver when the clouds move on.