Midwest Landscape

The land may as well be the sky,
so dark and solemn;
and the gray sky land, 
so alike to the soil
is its hue.

Lines of dark trees hew
to the lines marked off by fences; 
virgin land a sin
and fences
a Midwest obsession.

You can watch storms come
fifty miles or more in direction,
then fog moves in
and rain that might carry hail.
Still, the horned larks bunch, 
seeking seed
at the verge of the road.

I have not stood
like this at the harsh edge of winter,
since as a boy
I delivered two local papers.
But now I’m grown.

I focus my lens on a barn
that’s been painted blue.
It stands unmoved
above rows
of converging stubble.