The hooked
sky -
a crooked
crack
of hawk,
dropping.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Dust and
wind and
nothing.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Rock, my friend, I see you
are still here. Carry on.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
A great
inviting
emptiness
brings
the rain,
this wind.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Cattle,
coal, and
wind, a
lot of
wind.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Order
becomes
disorder.
The buttes
crumble.
The breeze
invades
the trees.
Men and
women
laid to
earth here.
Nothing is
what it is.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Scooped
in the hand
of God,
cupped
nothing, this
emptiness.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
If not rock,
hard earth,
this land that
won't give up.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Oh, yes,
the wide breath
of these
plains, the great
tawny plains.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Crossing Nebraska,
the shining darkness.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
There's rock
here, and
wind, and rock
again.
There's
lightning, wind,
rain and rock
and
rain and wind
again.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
A summer's night -
imagining darkness
where fireflies have been.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Summer's end -
even
the low
ground
is dry.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Oh, crow,
summer will be
gone soon,
and then, buddy,
it's you
and me, you
and me.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
The cicadas
singing -
what do we
wish for?
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Egret
in the drought-
weary marsh,
as if this,
too, is
holy.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Wind
and rain
and wind
again.
Then stars.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM
Dew
on the sun-
rise.
Silence.
# posted by Tom Montag @ 4:30 AM