Above, an owl blanketed in wheat feathers, eyes
like planets. The sky is a landscape, the field a vision
of call and response. Turning, turning. There is a you
and there is another you: holding clay hands, blinking
clay-smeared eyes. Cracking in the heat. One of you
runs to the firehouse. The other licks the burn.
Everywhere, these eyes. Everywhere, collision. Song.
We hunt for twins. Bones. Wind. To our clay ears,
our clay eyes, the owl almost sounds like a mother,
and the night blinks back in time. Everywhere, fire.
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
beautiful!! enchanting images
I like it. I like it very much. William J. Karnowski
“the field a vision of call and response” — very well done. It reads like an origin myth for the Kansas to come.