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.

2 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.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *