2015 poetry marathon poem #2 American wheat

in the granary, the single grains of wheat
float like motes of gold
sift through hot spiraling air
beneath the slant shafts of light
a sea of harvest laps
against the smooth boards
of the old silo

chaff softens the outline
of rusty machinery
parked where exhausted men
turned keys and tumbled
to wheat carpeted ground
somewhere in Arizona
a child tears a single piece of bread

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