A spreading sky, gray-lavender,

dry and uneven, formed a canopy

of thick silence like a storm without wind.

Circles of air, twisted vapor ghosts without form

rise from prairie sand backyards where weeds

fail to grow and old cars find a home.

Curtains lip out of open windows, hoping

to escape while a windmill spins, wishing to fly.

The yard is strewn with a long past.  There was

promise sewn into each morning but dust and

winds lifted it out of reach.  There were many

chances to become, until change outgrew the land.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s