harvest moon

Screams from the Shanty town, locust fog knells in audio horizon. Wheat bent like chaff bearers gnawed to origin and silica. In dust bowl dress hems A farmer spills blood beads from elders wrists chanting at sky to cut rain. A shadow walker shimmers she carries a pail of locusts their eyes like garnets on a pyre ring. These fallen winged scythes are ground down by peasant teeth and washed down by rain prayer. Tomorrow the elders kill a newborn with bark from the Acacia, a handful of seed and with God's grace a harvest moon.