One Body

            I am born in a field

of cornflowers and ripe wheat

            wind in the black gum trees            

                        late afternoon before the storm

and the men are cutting the field

            working the mower in circles

                        coming in and in

toward the center of the field

            where I crouch down

                        with the rabbits, with the quail

driven into this space by the clackety mower

            because I want to see

                        how the body goes still

how the mind, how the lens of the eye

            magnifies to an emptiness

                        so deep, so flared wide

there is everywhere field and the Source

            of field, and only

                        a quiver of the nose

or the flick of a top-knot feather, a ripple

            so faint I may have imagined it, says

                        yes, says no

to the nearing rustle in the last stand of wheat—

            and now it’s quiet, too quiet

                        a soft trample

a click, the cocking sound, a swish

            as the men steal in to take

                        what they want

they are clever, they are hungry

            and because this one body is

                        my birthplace

my birthright, my only homeplace

            my nest and burrow and bower

                        I understand

my mother is wheat, my father is wind

            and I rise in a tall gust

                        of rage and compassion

I rise up from the mown and edible

            debris of the world

                        wrapped in a bright

net of pollen and stars, my thighs

            twin towers of lightning

                        and my voice

I am a storm of voices, snipe and wolf

            snow goose, dolphin, quail, and lark—

                        Stop this. Stop it now

I say to the men, who stalk closer

            keen on the kill, late light

                        on the steel of their rifles

and they are my brothers—they are my brothers

            and I love them, too

                        Look into my eyes

I tell them. See for yourself the one shining field

            Look into my eyes

                        before you shoot