Strawberry Fields

You weaved your hands

Through the plaits in the Earth.

"Strawberry fields," you whispered,

And let down your coarse, silver hair.

I watch it tumble like snow, drape over

Leaves like frost. Your knees are tucked

Beneath you; what do you have to hide

Here? You answer me with a sad

Glance, over one shoulder, turning away.

Your hands burrow into the soil,

And I wonder how deep you will dig

Before sleeping.