A hot breeze separates the stalks of summer
as I run between the rows of ripe, golden ears,
a trickle of blood running down my knee.
She didn't believe me.
Where stalks end, Rudy's bridge stands,
spaces between planks wide enough to step into,
the pain of truth blinding, separating.
She didn't want to believe me.
Kneeling on a plank, I ignore a splinter
entering my cut, shallow, like the creek below,
barely deep enough for tadpoles. Behind me,
the breeze thrums silk on ears of stone.
text & photo by leh
