up from the corn it rises
in little conversations at church
in the basement
where we discuss satellites and tractors and the distance between
a farm and home

up from the corn it manifests
outside the party office
under our attractive lights
while we chat and spit greetings, passers-by almost unknowing
who we are and why we love each other

like brothers we walk softly, or sisters maybe
our measured pace caught
and the village calms
and the day draws
and then we end up sitting
silent on my porch
picking grass
and talking of our wives
"akazi anga," I begin
and there we are
all beat down into ourselves

somebody must have known us
and put us here
and smelled the season
and known the cool would come
and known there would be dust