05-13-2016, 01:19 AM
From the Railing of a Country Bridge
Mist fills the air above Rabbit River.
The fields are plowed, seed-ready, opening
themselves to the arms of thickening clouds.
Before this land was tended, prairie grasses
shimmied in the heat of endless summer,
bowed to buffalo who ventured this far.
Back then life fed on sunlight - on the chirps
and low whistles of the night, on the grunts
of meadow beasts and the breathless expanse
that the heart of winter makes of all of this.
My car windows start to fog. Truck tracks
in the sopped field roads fill with despair.
I see in the distance a grain truck making
its way up the wet pavement toward market.
Mist fills the air above Rabbit River.
The fields are plowed, seed-ready, opening
themselves to the arms of thickening clouds.
Before this land was tended, prairie grasses
shimmied in the heat of endless summer,
bowed to buffalo who ventured this far.
Back then life fed on sunlight - on the chirps
and low whistles of the night, on the grunts
of meadow beasts and the breathless expanse
that the heart of winter makes of all of this.
My car windows start to fog. Truck tracks
in the sopped field roads fill with despair.
I see in the distance a grain truck making
its way up the wet pavement toward market.