The Field

Did you walk by your field today?
I saw you honey.
The affable statue of your thinking man
has amplified the indexes of our limbo.
"You betray my heart with your devotion to grief," he said.
I replied, "Each stem has prodded my lay. What more can the field ask
when I have willingly conformed
to its wild grass?"
The quiet air bewilders my assent again.
Have I stayed too long?
I wonder.
I am tired of the unreal.
The exquisite statue nods.