We ride west for miles past tall windmill, prairie dots, anxious eagle eyes
gun signs, god signs, broken fences, white sky.
Crosses at the crossroads, this America is unamused
holding on to some misremembered past, a blinding white sky.
Every metaphor, destruction, every forming thought fizzles
no break from a killing silence, dull road-ache, the white sky.
Humorless you at the wheel, I doze nearby but miles away
dreaming our litters of goodness beyond reach today in a sizzling white sky.
This unending drive, crackling radio, throbbing sits bones, empties with a sigh
Love, resting restless will rise another day, empties into a white sky.
Make me a promise, say darlin’, let’s go the distance, we’ll empty this horizon
color the clouds, deliver ourselves soon, from this endless white sky.
Early Morning Poems 