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The bean plants in the fields have burned to gold;
the corn has fired orange overnight.
Long stalks, fine silks lie strewn along the road;
brown top soil sifts and filters out the light.
Stretched tight across the prairie and the sky,
like lines and meter spreading into song,
thin clouds and wires converge until my eyes
see blended light and color smeared along
the blood and blue horizon of the world,
dark distant space beyond an evening's drive.
I write and speed into a dust that swirls
and dances into light like it's alive.
This whole tableau lasts only for an hour.
False vision saved in song, distilled to power.
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