You see her
wearing jeans
in fields of 
green clover, 
and she sings 
from her network of wires.

When she sees you in the marsh 
wading with feet like a duck, 
your hair is thick with sand burrs, 
your wire glasses sag on your nose.

You are together
as tall grass flutters 
and wets your knees – 
your hand in hers fits like a gate latch.

Along the path 
thistle twist and weave in the fence wire.

Gary Busha is a poet, editor, and publisher who lived in Eau Claire during the middle 1970s. This poem appeared in Network of Wires and is reprinted by permission of the author.