Arms to send it, arms to encompass

My heart flings itself against its rib and flesh home –
flings as if it could tear away from me and run to him.
It forgets that he made his home in that same
rib and flesh. Though, surely he calls
from the far-off green mountains. And that call is true
as the mountains are steadfast.
His voice comes – like the hand of a lover, home early, over your eyes –
as the sun sets simply between encroaching grey,
arms to send it, arms to encompass.


Nebraska – though it smells like cow dung.

And then the sun set cold into the purple, hazy ground, and I loved Nebraska. 

In spite of the its treeless, lifeless plains, and the cow stench that soaks your clothes and sinks deep into your bones, and the miles upon miles of crops and nothing else. And in spite of, or perhaps because of, it’s endless space and endless, cloudless sky, I loved it. Because that sky met that land in a grey and purple shadow  and the sun traveled faithfully to meet it.