Prairie Blues


What she fears
is the starkness
this dry land where
trees are ink webs
against the blue-white snow

The land doesn’t lie
with lush palm trees
blue waters and small sky

The wind whispers, this is it,
make of it what you will.

the moon bleeds
blue blood
a mournful sight
on this cold night

the moon seems closer to her
than it has ever been before

She drives all night
blowing snow—
angels take flight