Barefoot in Wet Grass

it was barefoot in the wet grass
as the weather started to turn cold,
sun sinking orange and blue beneath
a curtain of pine trees and this
cascade of clouds over the field
where alfalfa grows in the spring,
and collecting damp on the hems of pants,
feeling the slick seeds and the last cut shards
of grass all on the tops of feet, and
staring up at the blue sky turning black
all last-second-sunset, some clouds
illuminated by the sun going down,
rising somewhere else.

bare feet in the wet grass,
all damp and fall air in lungs breathing
slow in and out, rotting leaves and the earth
turning up under the tires of trucks, the feet
of school children. the night, settling in,
quiet, still, blue sky turning black and
pinpricks of stars, the last animals resilient
to the cold, all crickets and doves, calling out
that the day is over,
the day is over, and
barefoot in the wet grass,
night is coming in.