I have come from hills 
now buried in my mind. 

I tread lightly 
to preserve
this flat land
make peace 

Fields of yellow rape
ripe with the sun.
Bunched crops sing
at a whisper 

Sounds of a field,
breath upon wind, 
voices whipping up
above thick hedgerow  

I cross to a verge in shade 
tweets peak, pitch squeezed 
from a robins belly, paused 
now holding height, hanging 

The yellow towers don’t rest 
stripping the sky’s light 
for lift above the flat
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