lean toward darkness

I have long been a fan on James Wright's work, but moreso since I've lived in the Midwest, a landscape Wright knew well and one that continues to work its way into my being. I adore this poem which recalls Fall for me, for some reason.  

  by James Wright

The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.   
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
There they are, the moon's young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.