The Fields of May

These golden seas of rapeseed, testaments
and tabernacles all around the town,
cower me: as neon is to night, they are
to the sun. With green beneath, their blooms shine up.
From a distance you can’t make out the leaves,
only vast vibrant blankets, cool, aglow.
I haven’t cared for yellow much, but this
splendor of spring has quite converted me,

as churches did, once, beckoning the pilgrim
to visit towns nearby with skyward aim.
I used to frequent churches, peek in shrines
of artificial ornaments and things,
and climb their towers, but till this day-long jaunt
through rapeseed fields, had never run in one

About the author

James B. Nicola is the author of six collections of poetry, the last four being Wind in the Cave (2017), Out of Nothing: Poems…

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Issue 21 · October 2014

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