Depth of Field

While facing the field
I tell myself,
here it is. Here is my life.

It was never here before
but it is now
so I stand in front of the field
as long as the field
is my life.

A question builds,
maybe the ground is rising.
Because, why this field?
It becomes important to know.
Are there other fields?

Yet, this one
will do.
I lie down in the cured grass.
Stalks grab at my clothes
and attack the skin at my neck
and my arms
until I am motionless.

When a bird flies overhead
I consider the bird
to be my new life.

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