I draw meaning against the slender of your winter
lines etch successive conquest
Rail, phone, fence, road.

Your hips surveyed
hay bales taught, exposed to icy wind
even the prairie hollow is furrowed,
and tattooed where grids exclaim glory.

Steeple pricked your heavens open and
the artist skates whisps upon a blue sea.

Every rise calls
20 miles -- 20 miles -- 20 miles more until
siloed
the harvest leaves you shorn bristling against ivory skin.

Will you next yield your fruit
to every summer sun
calling the lazy plow,
"Shall I roll over?"