Perhaps the meaning of the world
Out there among the tidal fields,
Though you’re only passing through.
Rows of corn—the kind of symmetry
God shunned. (Was it Jesus in His
Workshop, parking sawhorses side
By side, who made us love such tidiness?)
Red sky at morning. The side of a
barn
Never that red still telling a black-
Lettered, years-ago message: “It’s a boy.”
Out of the darkened barn,
A farmer carrying a red pail, shiny
Boots in the exquisite dew.