Ninety degrees
in dry September fields
all day long I lift
eighty pounds of green.
I am tiger lily dust
moistened from dew within,
my cocoa hair
streaked with caramel strands.
Scarred, calloused hands
twice their age,
touched by manly nails,
hoist these sacred stalks
until sinewy limbs
longing for apple tree shade
send me to drink divine
colorless warmth.
When the sky people
with their glory eyes
peep through the holes
in their velvet blanket
I fall clean
upon fresh sheets
and make love
to my peace.