Driving north on I-29
the telephone poles recede out of sight,
marching to vanishing point,
infantrymen in a ninth-grade perspective study
Waves of wheat stain orange-gold
beneath a pink-plumed sky
shortly after the Equinox
Franck’s Sonata in A,
pound out racing passages,
fly up under the wings of geese. South-flying,
they cartwheel to straining strings,
barrel-rolling
past the recapitulation into the coda,
south for the winter.
September 2010
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