No Dirt on My Hands

Harvest Moon and the beach 018

Harvest moon rises leaving
Me without a crop
Who delight in the seed
The coming to life
Sweet tomato on the lips
Dribbling down the shirt
The blue potatoes hiding
Under her leaf skirt and then
The treasure unearthed I am
Bereft, left here on the beach
Like a whale with no offspring
I long for the sweet loam of my
Father and Grandfather who like me still
Carry the genes of our farmer tribe the
American Indians who first got the bug and loved the
Direction of the moon and stars from which
We knew we came who married European
Ancestors and taught them this passion so especially on the night
Of harvest, I’m moon struck alone here with no dirt on my hands.

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