By Elizabeth Landrum

Otherwise…
I twirl through mazes of cornstalks
without noticing
the flaxen beauty of the bounty,
the sweet musty scent
that mingles
muddy boots with damp husks,
and I’m blind to the raptor’s view
of patterns of maize.

Otherwise…
through all the twirl
I miss
a dragonfly flutter in my chest,
a tiny surge of thirst
and dewdrops nesting in petals.

Otherwise…
there are no periods,
no exclamation points,
and everything
everything evaporates.

Copyright Elizabeth Landrum 2010