You slow down and look.
The sharp line between the corn, autumn dead,
and the field left fallow, green and lush.
Neither by itself remarkable,
but in the contrast, magical.
About this poem
The woman I love is on my mind a lot these days. I have written often of the magic in a second chance love. How different it is, and how, after living love gone bad in such painful ways, there is a special preciousness for both of us in our life together.
Our marriage is not perfect. We are two people, different in many ways, come together after a lifetime of joys and damage. Nothing gets to be perfect in that situation. But together, I believe we are extraordinary, or at least our love is, and I constantly marvel at it. Constantly.
And oh, yes, the poem can also be about corn and grass.