The Man in the Field

HE did not see the hand of God
Ruffle the streaming grain.
Prayers unanswered blinded him,
And a need for miracles again.

He did not see the smile of God.
He thought of one with sultry hair
Waiting beyond the poplars there.
His flesh, weary and unaware,
Desired no solace but despair.

He did not hear the voice of God.
He heard the evening plane
City-bound, and then a thrush
Valleys away, and further still
In the dusk a whip-poor-will.

He did not hear the feet of God.
He heard the evening silence press
Upon him the din of nothingness —
No voice to give, no word to bless.
The footsteps faded down the hill.

A star arose. The man in the field
Stood on a star that pitched and reeled —
He knew no motion. All his need
Lying far from prayer or creed,
He wept beneath the chill caress
Of his eternal loneliness.