(Today, a poem for Natl. Poetry Month. This poem appeared in my 2001 novel The Lake Poet.)
I want to crawl into the prairie grass with you
grasp the dirt with my hands, my knees digging in,
grass stains on my elbows,
and the fairy dust of wildflowers sprinkled in my hair.
The joe-pye weeds will stand as sentinels
their lavender riches offered to the sky.
The prairie grasses, gardens of the desert,
will move in a rhythm to match our own.
The thick air will absorb our cries
and the cries of the hawks gliding above us, watching.
Grasshoppers will alight on our shoulders.
and everything will be you,
the clover, the green shafts of cutting weeds,
the yellow ragweed the color of lemons,
and the slice-of-pie ghost moon in the daylight sky.