Martin Stolen
Cornfield

looking in, through thin whispering
gaps between leaves of corn
you held her, arm round
I'm sure you're warm, nights
curled hair against soft face
you held her, laughing
her eyes shining dark
joy into the corn
curling columns
of matte orange cells,
huddled, desiccating,
beginning a slow peal
you held her bright and satisfied
as you should be
night standing round, in rows
its eyes on your paired form
you, looking inward
that version of yourself
spread out in radiating lines,
in convex
her eyes shining dark
joy into the corn