The Dream of Reason. Jenny George

uneasy in the field.

      A wake. A ripple in the cloth.

      We see the green corn moving

      but not the thing that moves it.

      The atoms of our bodies turn

      bright gold and silky. Aimed

      at death, we live. We keep on

      doing this. Night unfolds helplessly

      into day. Beyond the field are more

      fields and through them, too—

      this current. What is it? Where

      is it going? Did you see it? Can you

      catch it? Can you kill it? Can you hold

      it still? Can you hold it still forever?

      4

      The conductor’s baton hovers

      for a moment in the alert