In the Corn
It does not matter today
what I had thought of doing on an earlier day
such as blowing my brains out.
On yet another day
I was stretched out under the corn,
a flaxen-haired lady-love beside me.
Both recollections merge now
as the flowing wind-music
of high green stalks.
The sun may be beating down
but it’s not beating me down today,
the corn is ten thousand dances
of tall shade.
Under a swaying sky.
such a thing, not knowing exactly
how deep into the corn you are,
nor knowing exactly the direction out;
that kind of moment you might never know
if you lived far from the corn.
If, on a certain day, I had blown my brains out
it would also have been
a fine place to have done that,
but of course I did not,
there are always more cornfields.
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