Poetry, Vol. 2.3, Sept. 2008
There are no trees to cast shadows
along a North Dakotan highway,
only stacks of hay,
patch of sunflower,
I wish to linger inside a roll of hay,
as a passing thought, to smell of earth,
to sound like words that were swallowed
and never spoken.
My air is calm.
I am a silence that passes as a particle
in the scraps of daylight.
I stretch along the road.
The skyline breathes,
rising and falling as a blurred and broken line
that I stare at for far too long.
I will not touch it.
The sun sinks away
and I am left to contemplate the stars.
They stare back down at me,
The air is still.
Frost encases a blade of browned grass,
choking it, leaving it fighting for air.
It melts between my fingertips.