We have too much golden straw.
We wouldn’t need it for our cows
And would burn it blue into fog.

We would bring all the wheat up
From black earth’s furrowed fields.
Ox made a desire’s earth wounds.

The ox closed listless eyes to flies
And never once thought of cows,
A job left to the season’s big bull.

The earth bled and gave us wheat.
Cows needed no straw nor a roof.
So we burn and send it into fog.