GEOMETRY

That lonely highway running through the plains
Bisected all those verdant fields of corn.
And in our car so dwarfed by all the grain
I cuddled up for warmth against the morn.

I watched it all go blurring past the window,
The geometrics of the golden fields.
Straight and diagonal, the endless rows
Seemed to crosshatch fertile nature's yield.

One winter weekend we drove back that way.
The geometrics covered up with snow,
There was stubble where the rows of corn held sway
And in the field atop some hay, a crow.

My mother's brother died in bed.
The sky above looked just like lead.