The cotton fields waltz with the wind
as if an AM radio stirs from beneath the soil.

The sun begins to set, and farmers’ chatter clutters
the airwaves. Doves leave power lines to roost.

Into the night, combines kick dust
high enough to hide the moon.

Morning reveals the used and naked rows
as trucks hook up their trailers and pull out.

Along the highways, loose cotton spills from its cages
and waits by the edges for next year’s dance.