Some unseen forces draw us west
Across the hot flat plain,
A liquid sun pours heated gold
Down onto fields of grain.

The highway shimmers a mirage,
Faint skunk smell floats the air,
The dry gray fences count the miles
Of knee-high corn, and prayer.

In waning light we find a lake
And stop, peel off our clothes,
In sweet green water, dive and float
In sensuous repose.

The oven of cerulean
Transforms to starry dome.
Orion points and lightly pulls
Us further west.  And home.