Fallow

Nearing the fall,
the onset of wet slumber
weeds lustily plucked
twisted dank red lumber.

Raked soil scored
shaped and measured,
edges brown,
black dung weathered.

Brazen bristled roots
coiled sway,
tiny underworld caverns
give way.

Zigzag ragged rays
lit in earthy veins,
and wood flakes churned
in wet rapid drains.

Spores of hidden
tucked away green,
empires that shift
asleep and unseen.

Below the crust,
the overturned mile,
straw lumps hang limp
like flax of the Nile.

Marigold-woven
airy mats
strewn and curled
in like cats.

Coaxed silver spangled
mottled roots,
dappled clover's gray
green shiny shoots.

Northern flocks
core the sky steady,
a breath inhaled,
gulped and ready.

Earth cracked,
mud gaping and hallow,
yield only a sigh
in the year of the fallow.

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