A weathered barn on a hilltop; a nude woman
sprawled on the slope
below.
A giant squid rises out of a hayfield, & the barn
is compassed in tentacles
then a cloud of ink.
A man with a fountain pen in his hand
& a pitchfork
in his back
walks the cow-path around the barn
& tells the beauty
on the hill
to step to it. It’s as if her freckled skin
is newly charcoaled
& the hayloft
a smokescreen. The cows can’t be heard for certain
within the ink blot,
but deer
creep to the edge of the field on
delicate feet.
