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| A field left be |
The woods reclaims the field,
trees marching out
into the open over fifty years,
first the locusts, enriching the soil,
then the cherries and the haws,
then the maples, then the oaks,
welcomed by daisies and yarrow,
by ironweed and Joe Pye,
by rabbits and voles and white-footed mice,
a country boy among them,
returning also to woodland
with a thousand other forms,
known and unknown,
teeming on the uncultivated hill
as night's curved shadow
swims across the earth.
