I bend to the ground br to catch br something whispered, br urgent, drifting br across the ditches. br The heaviness of br flies stuttering br in orbit, dirt br ripening, the sweat br of eggs. br There are br small streams br the width ofa thumb br running in the villages br of sheaves, whole br eras of grain br wakening on br the stalks, a roof br that breathes over br my head. br Behind me br the tracks creaking br like a harness, br an abandoned bicycle br that cries and cries, br a bottle of common br wine that won't br pour. br At such times br I expect the earth br to pronounce. I say, br "I've been waiting br so long." br Up ahead br a stand of eucalyptus br guards the river, br the river moving br east, the heavy light br sifts down driving br the sparrows for br cover, and the women br bow as they slap br the life out br of sheets and pants br and worn hands.