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The Field in Texas

By Daphne McColl / January 12, 1989

The field has a boundary both far and near. The western edge is lined

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with trees. The northern line is edged with palms and streetlights on poles

to shine

at night. The southern limit hosts a mesquite tree for boat-tailed grackles

to make

a landing. On this eastern border I reside like a potentate counting golden petals

on a field

of ragwort. But over all the field, there beyond all horizons, is the Sky ... unbounded.