Patrice Lewis, "Tarping Hay," 2010
Everything is open to the sky—the scrap-wood sheep pen, the pitted bed of the skewbald pick-up, even the attic (a missing patch of shingles on the roof make an accidental skylight)—everything except for a ziggurat of fresh bales of hay. Once scythed, each alfalfa blade no longer changes sun and rain and earth into energy, as free as the rhizome-born can be—now, coverture’s applied to the hay stacks curing under tarps, the green fuse subsumed by an agricultural marketplace's needs.
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