he hungers for the fruit of the vine
he thirsts for the supper of the earth
his blue skies face crumbles
when he sees the dead field
fragments of his bravery litter the sand
while he sits in the harvest field
moaning in the tilled earth
fingers entwined in the roots of dead growth
the bounty of the earth is gone
leaving only this desolate dirt
his lament loud and wild
reaches her
and she is compelled to join him there
naked to the whip of the sun
leashed to the soil with thin golden chains
where they both lay mourning
like two insane birds
prisoners of the open sky
longing for the freedom of dirt