and the blade whistles

dark in the field and grandpa still hacks with a slingbladehe hit grandma again and the sky has gone over to a rashof stars nibs of bone burning in a black rag and the blade whistlesevery night my stomach sputters like a wet match and the blade whistlesgrandma never cries and the blade whistles by now Bud Chartonhas quit the haybarn and the tractor's cooling and clickingand the blade whistles night shucking itself to blacknessand the blade whistles grandma learning to do makeupin a broken mirror and the blade whistles grandpa is a black tonguebleeding into the field and the blade whistles grandma churnsout the gravel she leaves for town and the blade whistlesheavy-lidded on the porch I can't move my legs I've hauled brushuntil I'm stiff as the boards swelling under me and the blade whistlesI'm falling and unfalling asleep and the blade whistles I'm floatingover the gumball tree over every snake bed in the countyand the blade whistles the pond like a cup of water in a charred turtle shelland the blade whistles no, I'm being carried in a sinew-strung armnestled like a horse hair on barbwire fence and the blade whistlesall I can hear is the buzz of my hornet-nest heart over grandpa'sshoulder and the blade whistles and the blade whistles