Mar 13
2 min read
POETRY
Panhandle
Into the West Sonnet Series
The road home is a flat plain, a runway
bisecting a thousand acres, where grain
and cattle reign. Silos scrape the sky. Grey
clouds are a blessing, the sun is the same.
We slide in silence, barely moving by
the monotony of the land. Seven
hours of constant communion with high
heaven laying lightly on earth. Even
the wind flies past without stopping, passing
over…
