Some fields have been stripped. Others are waiting. Brown paper stalks, a plastic bag tangled in the wire fence. Leaves rise in eddies—creatures dragging across the road. A fire sparking near the trees. No one tending it, gray smoke ballooning. Over my head black birds cross, double- cross the sky. A porch swing hanging with one chain. The mums are freezing, the tomatoes underripe, cut short. Wasps groggy from declining sun. In the distance, Dutch barns painted with hex signs—rosettes, wheels. My sister in a wedding dress—her bare shoulders. Her image multiplied in three mirrors, each time looking younger—a girl with braids cushioned between white sheets smiling, waiting for me, as I’d tiptoe in early each morning to wake her.