No One in Particular

Are you looking at me? I say to the mountain
which moves as I guide the tiller down the row

But maybe it’s not the mountain I address

Are you talking to me? I say to the pale moon
which sits upon the mountain like a ghost ball

But maybe the moon is not the ghost of this conversation

The Briggs and Stratton snorts. The tiller’s deep-treaded
tires turn. The Buddha in the engine barks. The tines
lift the secret earth buried under tough sod

Are you overseeing me? I say to the crow
who stands off like an incriminating shadow

But the crow may not be the shade to whom I speak

Soon spinach will be sprouting in these rows
The prints I leave in the soil behind the tiller
will have been smoothed over by a rake

Are you reminding me of something?
I say to no one in particular

by Jim Culleny, 4/7/2010

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