This land

Forgive me my trespassing.

This land is your land,

farmhouse, for-sale sign,

soybean field plastered white.

This land is not my land,

but the west wind tossed me

across the street, muck boots

soiled from the stable. I slipped

toward the treeline

through brambles, sunlit

stubble, abandoned

deerstand, twisted

mulberry, moving across it
like it was mine.