old painting
thick fingers
palms pressing
oil, turpentine
rows cracked
under a plow
rugged hands
lines traced
by a finger
to these fields
running with
a stream
winding asphalt
to where you are
and aren't
choosing turns
dipping, rolling
past your dream
tiny sprouts
smeared into
dirt and rain
simple place
in the country
Are you there?
Hope so