In the summer at the farm
the sun came to us the children
to heal the morning of the night worries
to make a slit in the world
to crack open the cold quiet
and feed us on its yolk.

The sun came to us the children
gleaming through the leaves
shuffling round the corner where
the dirt road left the dell
rolled out and passed our door.

In the summer at the farm
we the children
were bosses of morning
charmed with the bright first
side-light of the sun
that only we could hear.

When the sun came
we the children
left our beds
slid down the steep steps
feet-first-then-butt
feet-first-then-butt
pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs
and stepped out into morning
pyjamas and bare feet
toe-heel-toe heel
out onto the slick porch dew
down the four wide steps
to the cold brave lawn
and backwards up the steps again.

We looked across the dirt road
at the garden in the shade
Big Cat on the stone wall
hay in the field
waiting all
for the sun to come to them.

When the sun came loud enough
for grown-ups to hear
the women carried swinging crazy
water buckets to the garden.
Big Cat left the field for the barn.
The boy from town
rode his tractor through hay stalk stubble
high on tractor’s seat
glowing gold and too handsome to look in the eye.

We the children
bosses of morning
watched him float through the field
and prayed for the rain to hold
until the other men came
with pitchforks and bare arms
to scoop the hay
into tractor’s trailer
escort it all
pitchforks carried at attention
to the barn where
Big Cat slept on the cross beam

and only opened one eye when
we the children
bosses of morning
flying from ladder
to loft
to manger
claimed the day won
the hay ours
and life a grand masterpiece.