Near Harvest

I rest up on a hill marked quiet and green

evergreens line the way up and back from town

and from the peak lay miles of rows of green

leaved stalks just turned to tassel, gold spires

brush against warm wind which run their lengths

chasing along knoll and dale gently winding

mirrored patterns of the earth it holds, holds it

rooted in place, grows, browns, turns and rustles

in a colder wind, marks a hill where I rest still

and watch upon the valleys which I grow

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NATHANIEL MILLER is a poet that holds a BA in English and Creative Writing from the Univ. of Iowa, and a recipient of the Fifth Annual Iowa Chapbook Prize in Nonfiction.