(how I met my wife)
by James Blackmon
across this Kansas field
on a hot
the wildflowers between us--
as an anchored-ship
not pluck flowers from their stems--
the thick, humid, fragrance of this field
by Robert Cory
unspoiled tract of CRP, at the bend of a creek,
solitary stand of cottonwoods thrives.
Stubbornly rooted in tranquil, unkempt ground.
nearest the bank, lean.
others upright, cast against an autumn sky.
scatter of polite applause,
youthful mime the twitch and rustle of the elders.
first shed leaves adrift.
Yellowing, nonplussed shapes savor the flight;
once in a lifetime ride.
fallen form a misshapen mattress for the falling
shuttles them elsewhere.
bed warehouses the lionís share.
branches part sunlight into oblong wedges.
faces of their trunks bear winterís brunt.
brute forces. They resist the siege.
Indigenous visitors search for something that matters.
night calls of a coyote add weight to the dark.
the bold, the vigilant; hunter and hunted;
unseen whether stars, moon,
cloud, snow, or pricks of freezing rain.
patrons of St. Oestrus instinctively stir,
arrives; bearing a trove of miracles, caprice
swagger. Welcome! ...nascent hues of native flora;
of a rain flush creek.
...to the vernacular of a hundred small voices.
will give thanks for April.
Quickening the gait to redemption.