Collapsed Lexicon | Page 96

96

"the
 harvest"

collect
 them

again,
 and
 pray

for
 more

than
 before,

when
 the
 only
 things
 we
 saw

as
 the
 sun
 died

in
 a
 blood
 orange
 sky

were
 bruised,
 weathered
 hands

begging
 for
 a
 day
 off.

the
 harvest
 never
 stops

and
 the
 seasons
 never
 sleep.

By
 Joseph
 Dahut