Forward

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.