old claims

golden ocean catching sunset fire,
winters cold, burn the lungs and eyes,

flat earth, endless sky, howling wind.


look here to marvel at
the subtlety and violence of color,
the manic strength of storming wind,
the give and take of life, the

flat earth, endless sky, howling wind.

prairie plains, fields of golden wheat,
my Midwest.
land watered by sweat, blood,
and stubborn determination.
land of hard men and women,

flat earth, endless sky, howling wind.

forget monuments, signs, tours.
here, history is palpable, alive.
keeps rhythm to the great and terrible heart of

flat earth, endless sky, howling wind.

my Midwest.
she sings and wails, and wails and sings.
calls me back to a home I left long ago.
my Midwest,

flat earth, endless sky, howling wind.

I hear you still. I know your claim.
I will bring them to you.
They will hear your songs and taste your dirt,
They will know and understand your

flat earth, endless sky, howling wind.

the whale's song

I dreamt of speaking

on a night where no silence was to be found.

mad thoughts rushing about,

too fast to understand, too slow to forget.

Through a whispering stream, 

these thoughts float to a silent God.

Trident in hand, he watches and understands

the currents and waves of running prayers

rising in swells with every heavy breath,

spiraling into whirlpools of despair.

Also, happily lapping the sweet shore of remembrance,

of gratitude. 

I dreamt of speaking

on a night where no silence was to be found.

On the belly of an ocean  black,  

I bobbed along afraid of the universe beneath me, 

so real,  hidden and unseen. So much a part of me.

I bobbed along afraid of the universe above,

endless and expanding, unveiling the secrets of me. 

I bobbed alone in his majestic presence, 

irrevocably being, wanting to just be.