Hues of orange splinter at your feet.
The wheat has been sown.
The wheat has been reaped.
I have tethered myself to you—a golden sheaf.
Your eyes mount me like a monarch,
pin me to decision.
I feel this tugging to be rooted,
a tremor in my skeleton,
scraping on my spine,
an ebbing and a
flowing, heavy grapes
upon a vine.
THIS POEM APPEARS IN THE BOOK THE WAY HERE
THE WAY HERE
MARC J. FRAZIER