Harvest

there were the lean
years, wrecked
nights, fevered
infants, blighted
fields, harrying
winds, we grew
twinned, slender
as needles, abraded
then smoothed,
upright as oaks,
silent as drapes,
my heart breathes
a hum that you,
sympathetic tine,
vibrate in reply
a ventricle beat,
a rod against
the lightning.