once rectangular once clay fields
in moats of mud gray
from this afar over
i cannot make out the crop
i reckon it could be
fixed wheat
steel strengthened
to be solid in the sun
i have not seen the farmers
i think they hide themselves
from the hourly
total eclipses
but at night they’re out
checking the fields for concrete weeds
and the pests
what are the pests
i think they’re the
two hundred metre tall
things that walk the rough
driving the eclipses
like rain