Poetic Interlude X

I asked the face between the cornstalks,
"Have you seen my Beloved pass this way?
These are not his forests, and he may be lost,
Carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It gives him such a pretty, crow-footed walk.
Have you seen him moving under the trees?
His custom is to look up, and his throat,
Well, let us just say it is a sacred space.
Listen, I need to find him before dark -
Before his eyes blend into the darkness and shadow
And he dissolves completely into the packed-dirt path."

The face laughed, mocking at me,
And directed its gaze West, saying;
"I have seen someone with a remarkable head,
That gleams fine-gold under the five o'clock sun,
Who walks like a sad vulture, and looks just so,
As if he were tired and unutterably sore.
He does not look like a man in love, I'll say,
I think you may have overestimated his affection
For you - or does he even know you?
I think that he is fine on his own."

I did not hear what the face answered me,
I had turned West, and begun to walk.