shower

i'm waiting for a shower. craving through the absence of thunder and lightening, a midwestern pouring down of that sort of fulfillment people still long for here. (an imagination from the diaspora?) there was a sunset tonight and i could see all of it-- from horizon to horizon-- by merely turning around. no hills to seek out no cities carving out a light of their own no ocean bending blurring the edges of the earth: plainly here the fast fading richness of growing things the neatly drawn boundary lines of this-sponsored supercorn and that-grown soybeans and this-and-that resiliant hay-- quilted, kempt, owned. but shared, this organic drapery.

asking them all if they water the grass. everything so green, righteously so. there is no stealing of resources here, no cities pocketed where they clearly do not belong. here could sustain many more than it does but here is thankful for its sparsity. here fosters the dreaming, methinks. so i watch day and night from my window perch above the garage the people slowly walk the cars slowly come and go and i walk to the other side of the house watch from the porch the pond slowly drift watch the country road we are all watching the corn grow.

i forget about this pace of life i forget about the green effortlessness of the grass i forget about contentment.