Lucy Come Home

Lucy Come Home

And I panicked

in the weeds,

arguing with the ground

kicking soil

with my feet.

It was my fault 

she left.

Or was it?

This time I cut her deep;

she noticed me in red

twisting with the wheat,

with the wind,

with honey

in my hair.

I call to her still,

salt and water

and milk.

Pulling on my ears

in quiet desperation,

scratching out

the sounds aggressive. 

As her smile disappears

with the moon.

Lucy come home.