To a Plowed Field

Ripples of earth
     floating on water,
Sinuous ridged edges
     merge into symmetry,
Land square-framed 
     by mud and reeds,
 
In your moats and brooks
     tadpoles graduate
     to heron-speared frogs,
Wrigglers hyperactivate into
     buzzing flight
     to blood feasts,
Gopher snakes glide,
     Zen-like, without
     much thought at all.
 
Reaped and scraped
     at fall’s end,
Asleep through winter’s death,
     you await spring’s glory
And a face-lift returning
     your furrowed visage.