The next dog is a field over. Strewn with purple vegetables,
The field is a night especially but also a bark in the chest,
Tethered, hovering above the heavy mud.
The sun nailed to the tornado fence is not like yesterdayís but
Is, now, my kind of disaster. Sun, put down your spade.
Lola is fields over, is over-fed and sick but glistening.
This is the Earth, I say to the spade.
You are on it too. Lola is on it, fibrous and healing. Fields are on it, netted
And plucked. I would drive you into the field if I could.
Watching the sun bend over your silver and my
Silver, my verge and yours, I would hook my fingers
Into your grooves, on the Earth, and draw back, and
Heave you into the field. The green matter wakes in a ring.
Weíll take our places in orbit
While at home there will be water enough to fill a field like this.


Donít play that number. Where are you walking to, Hibiscus?
Hibiscus, I hopscotched all day to find you
And here you are! tremendous how.
I pocketed all the dice in the city to build a skyscraper,
Timeís luckís a square date. Donít you, Hibiscus, think?
I am the new town in town. You are a ruin
In that dress. What a pale blue dot
I have become, walking next to you.
Do you like light? Does it move you? Do you know
What makes this country great? Hibiscus,
Iíll give you anything you can point to. Hell,
Look at.


Rachel Abramowitz's poems and reviews have appeared in Crazyhorse, Oxonian Review, POOL, jubilat, Colorado Review, and Painted Bride Quarterly. She is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop and the University of Oxford, and teaches at Barnard College in New York.