Fresh waters of the Michigan capped
in brilliant sprays, with rainbow webbing.
The cotton storms picked up on the lake winds
and in the twilight sun
Refused to burn, even when engulfed in fire.
I took a breath then and smiled
dizzy off of spiced apple wine.
On the island of the matriarch
the wildflowers shook anxiously,
preparing for their slumber
under the autumn sun.
I ran my fingers for a final time
along the sharp edges of the prairie grasses
and left behind what was created there.
The shimmering Mississippi
glowed like a vein of phosphorous.
It was violent with flood waters
and ignited under the noon sun.
Among the artists and cultured
I watched the river burn
while they painted the scene perfectly.
I’ve found peace a handful of times,
underneath a generous Wisconsin sun.