Kentucky Poem by Steven Federle

Summer steam
washes us clean
like a warm bath

as we wade through young fields,
new corn waist high
to where blue sky
meets the rustling green sea.

We navigate by dead-
reckoning to the red barn.

Wary of snakes,
with flailing stick you flush
out the tall, quick hares.

Feathers flashing, quail
burst heavenward at
our clumsy approach,

but in the dark barn
we find
forgiveness.

God's own light streams down
into fragrant stalls
as their wise eyes
regard us.

We reach out to touch.

They nod,
first in warning,
then with bright approval.