17. evolutionary wheat heather, she shades her stalks about me, her wheaten arms, rustling with a fertility forgotten in genetic evolution; they say our love emerged from the brushfires of natural selection, weeding enough so as to avoid overgrowth. in prehistoric times, we would exist as extra labor without added reproduction. she fans my burning breath while we lie under the wind-thrown shadows of the porchside trees; her long, ripe body, bursting with seed, subdues the fright of the combines; by divining water, her gentle touch understands the ways to elicit liquid, flowing smoothly, voluminously; a catalyst of good irrigation. she tickles me with her hair-fine bristles, whispering "hayfever hayfever" as if inducing allergy; but we both giggle, knowing if she pressed her head full against my body, soft sweet, i would lick the grains from her hair. and we would embrace like persephone and her lover, joyously. ... on the dark half, six months of the year, she leaves her homeland to live with her husband mark, the farmer who reaps the yearly harvest with her; then, autumn and winter exist in my heart, watching her seeds shaken and shaken again. as they fall, he grinds them in a mortar and makes her into flour, his livelihood. sweet heather, i would wrest you away, but you have eaten the pomegranate seeds of marriage; i can only cry like a first bridesmaid, watching you given away. although in time, you must return, re-emerge, for your season is that of eternity summer winter spring fall -- golden wheat, encapsulating your radiant energy. the entomologists say that ants and bees have evolved similarly, with a worker class which struggles to sustain itself, all females. like us, too, these insects are often ignited by the intense heat of magnifying-glass eyes.