We strayed across the fields at fall
broad September fields all seven moons
had passed and now on horseback
eight and nine were done.
Our motion moved the earth
and thrashing winds around were we
at one with the endless plain and
the tall, swaying wheat.
How many horses? How many hours?
Beneath our bodies, beating the ground
Hands in manes and long hair waving
in rhythm with the wheat.
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ragazza, donna, moglie, madre
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