the farm's star was a tractor
called Allis-Chalmers
that pulled a rusty plow,
or the old wagon piled with leafy ears of corn -

too hot outside to be exhilerating
there were still moments -
lunch in the shade of an untouched corner of land
juice of blackberries
trickling along the backs of our hands

the whisper of trees
with stout vines entwined around their trunks
and small snakes at ease
gliding down the bark

the return to the orange tractor
to finish out the day
winding up and down the striped furrows
of flat soft acres

in synch with the blackbirds
lighting on the stalks
the sun moving across
the arc of blue sky

the guys on the wagon
humming harmony
with the grumbling baritone
of the tractor