Crossroads.
Light and a downwind music.
The eerie nonchalance of trees
In summer.
Water as still as memory.
Everything we know of the other world
Dropped, like one or two longings,
Into our sluggish hearts.
This place is a shadow of that one,
Or maybe only shadows,
Each one casting about
On some blank enigma.
I love that I do not know,
That no one knows.
All of our knowledge
Just liminally held
By the swaying presence
Of the grass and prairies.