OK.
This one that has the tercet, has
a three-line stanzas but a little more variable line.
And it's called "Winter Field."
"The winter field is not the field of summer lost in snow.
It is another thing, a different thing.
"We shouted, we shook you," you tell me.
But there was no sound, no face, no fear, only oblivion.
Why shouldn't it be so?
After they'd pierced the vein and fished me up, after they'd
reeled me back, they packed me under blanket
on top of blanket, I trembled so.
The summer field, sun-fed, mutable, has its many tasks.
The winter field becomes its adjective.
For those hours, I was some other thing.
And my body, which you have long loved well, did not love you."