Flat yellow ground
The prairie I've known,  
the old and new grounds.
Walking away from the lonesome day.  
I've asked with a whimsical rays
like as of basquiat.

The green of the night
follows the yellow of the
everlasting warmth
surrounding the north.
The chant of the wind
and its sores in the afternoon.
I'm not there but
"Oh, I'd like to see it once more."