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The Fall Plowing Back Home
Young, and I burned the world away
Ahead of me, anywhere I went,
With my personal blaze.
Now the world is fi lling back in.
How I like the plain details,
Complete with shadows, in the low sunlight.
When did I empty? -- it's as quiet in here
As a cobweb furred with dust.
Let the harness on its peg
Harden, let the green build up
On the battered brass knobs of the hames.
This old manure scent is dry, and very fi ne.
Long blades of the afternoon
Slope in through the drop-siding,
Slit the dimness. The light wind
Of late afternoon carries clearly
The fl y-buzz of a whole fl eet
Of tractors, over the fl at brown fi elds.