The Old Pecan Field

I often stand 

On the old pecan field

Grazing the newest grass.

I know better then

To dig in deep

For truffles

Or winter roots. 

For the moment I leave

A print in the earth

My time there will ‘come

Unsettled.

I’m told it’s to hide

The dirt that’s inside

Is shoddy

And of shallow heather.

So why bring me here

To beloved homelands

That don’t wish

For the return

Of their lives?

Just let it fallow

And to me, allow

To wander where I 

Am alive.