The prairie chicken
takes his stand in grass
when the desire for rapture
overwhelms his soul,
making him as indiscreet
as a creaky marriage bed.
Vibrating his wings,
he makes a nuptial sound,
booming out desire,
drumming out a message
meant for a mate:
"I vibrate for your love."

The booming grounds
where this display of passion
so conspicuously
stains the innocent air
is on a Kansas plain,
beneath a big sky,
which outlets to a God
who, spying through the sun,
his eye,
to the dismay of some,
apparently approves.