Iowa Evening: Hour 7

An Iowa dusk finds me
falling, helpless, into an endless sky.
On a road far before me
a farm truck spins a cloud of dust
that blossoms gold in the evening light
as the vehicle disappears.
Farm houses lay silent, close and flat
to a faraway horizon
while a setting sun
flames its way into the corn.

I feel the small scale of my heart
blossom and bloom in this endless place.
And everything I breathe
is earth and light and sky.

6 thoughts on “Iowa Evening: Hour 7

  1. Reminds me of when ideas growing up in Saskatchewan. The dirt roads floated just above the ground after a car or truck drove on it. The poem reminded me of fox tails and wheat dancing in the wind. Thank you for happy memories.

    1. Mark – thank you! I loved driving through the US – nothing of my life in NI prepared me for the size of this country – and there were evenings like this where I simply felt transported with the beauty I found.

  2. This is an excellent poem and your ability to light up the image of the sun, its heat and the boundless reach of the open Iowa fields readily warms the reader to this piece.

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