countryside – henry turns over 
his potato (resting) field to the left of his house
windmill noises sound like the rush of the sea
he gave me the curtain he used to look through
he’s reached the deadend of the rails
walks off the beaten track
Henry is a lonesome man
from a hundred years ago
grown up in a time of change
never lost his childish glow 
the wind is telling of a lonely son
the copper stain from years to come
he is taking pictures of the sun 
decided for the calm (the neighbors house stays calm)
countryside – henry’s up early
awaking to the sparse empty land
the isolation is hard to stand
what love is there to demand
there is a field in grid, a path, a hand
a glance, a grasp, a word at a strand