Work, by Paige Davis

Where bodies on bodies should

falling hard against each other, sound
louder than the heads of ripe wheat
sifting a stern wind.

But the boy's attention stays
with the hushed tongue of his windrower over Kansas
and now there is no other

voice in the lovemaking, corn snakes
in the rotary cutter, the combine sucking
bees up out of ground hives.
When he finds the sea in her he tries to plow it.