Ted Kooser
Something is calling to me
from the corners of fields,
where the leftover fence wire
suns its loose coils, and stones
thrown out of the furrow
sleep in warm litters;
where the gray faces
of old No Hunting signs
mutter into the wind
and dry horse tanks
spout fountains of sunflowers;
where a moth
flutters in from the pasture,
harried by sparrows,
and alights on a post,
so sure of its life
that it peacefully opens its wings.
Ah such lovely images abound in this one. I love poems of "moments." Aside from the moth opening its wings, nothing really happens, there isn't any action, yet the description of this snapshot in time is so vivid. The personification of each of the described elements in the field humanizes the stillness -- how the fence coils sun themselves, the stones are sleeping and the No Hunting signs have faces and voices. Really beautiful. Enjoy!
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