Below,
Browned tires carry us across dirt roads
Into the heart of Crex Meadows.
The windows rolled tightly
To prevent any more foreign dusts
From pillaging my lungs.
The cold-blowing A/C pierces the left side of my face
When I’m looking at her
And the right side of my face
When I investigate the deepening meadows
Paced before me.

Above,
The clouds crinkle and clamor for my attention,
Morphing into shapes that only I can see.
Kingfishers and chickadees often obscure
The blue canvas stretched taut against the Sky.
My paintbrush eyes dart down only to find us
Touching a creek with our balding tires.

Before
Us sat the landing strip
For pelicans-a-plenty.
Eighty sea birds chose to touch down
On this remote prairie creek
In this northern, wooden, meek
Corner of Wisconsin.
For hours they sat resting,
Waiting for the moment they’d use all their strength
To take off from this unassuming bed
The last of whom tears night from day
Revealing nascent diamonds
That speckle the Sky.