My Field, by Maya Antebi

I run through my field—

Weeds longer than my Eyes can see above—

Hiding the Path in which Life wants me to take—

Hale—rooted in its Dream

The Hourglass of Idea—

Evacuating to soul—

And evaporating from Mind

The Clock of our Angels —

The Flowers—the variety—

For our Generations—time—

The speeding of my feet through my Field 

To find the End—