|Palouse Farm Sonnet|
|Written by Aaron Rench|
The summer I followed the smell of budding grain
to work and turned the farmer’s rails muddy
brown with paint, splashed them thick until greased
with color—it dried but kept the gloss of rain.
And I would walk the farmer’s hills and stain
the bugs with poison from a jug I carried
on my back until it bounced empty.
And other crops might catch the dust from planes.
In this place senses swim then drown;
stunned by just the water in a cup
or by a sky darkened and deep with zeal.
At dawn I sped a motorcycle down
the blank highway and held the camera up
trying to snap the joy in those green hills.