You left them all -
creaky tractors
out in the rain,
bring on the rust.

A slippery cricket,
I leap from your hands
again and again,
and you never quite catch.

Scramble for me, dear,
just try to keep up.
Once I see your sweat beading
I think I could rest.

Funny how
you built this house -
no windows to face these fields.

Just know,
I will be here
in the field of your mind,

to shine like a black river pebble,
to show you your face in the dark.