Those magnificent sunsets, riveting
to the bone.
I walked into the prairie,
and felt like the cool wind on a Saturday night.
I can see the old rusted behemoth.
It sits, lost in the wastebasket of oblivion.
Tall whisky willows, tower in front, their boughs
blocking it's menacing complexion.
A hummingbird approached me.
The shuttering of the old clock in the truck,
fell to a lonesome silence.