Vast Nebraska sky,
sienna-hued droplets meld together
forming dusk’s tapestry.
Towering meadow blades,
cool as creamsicles,
stroke my weary head and
tickle my naked frame.
Soothing northwest breezes,
leaving Manitoba,
slither through stars
gathering miniscule buttercup petals.
I see them being
spun into a feverish night waltz,
as my body lies drenched
in placid moonbeams.
I reflect upon the evening’s natural merriment
my private Midwest massage;
therapeutic services
not rendered on the
sticky isle of Manhattan.