Wheat Field
driving the wheatland highway
through rolling fields
I pass bales
stacked like pyramids.
they lie on lay lines,
harvest-drawn,
dune yellow on the land.
chaff and stalk hide in chambers
the splendours of a pharaoh.
and as we open the tomb
gold spills even
from the heart
of the stubble husk,
into our bowls and bodies.
Jan 2003