Prairie Illinois

Outside at dusk, listening,
I hear ancient melodies.
Mid-September evening.
Illinois, Prairie, Illinois.

The sudden downpour ended.
Prairie musicians exalt in song.
Symphonic winds, bass vibrato,
rhythmic timpani, true harmony.

Tree frogs, crickets, katydids.
The cardinals’ flute solo,
The bees’ bass buzz.
Nature’s prairie voices echo,
reply, retort, repeat.

Ancient songs surround my yard,
my trees, my lawn, my walls.
The prairie lives today as in
primordial time. Timeless eons.

Do I come from, abide here, and
belong to the prairie?
Do I posses the land
or does the land possess me?

(Carvings in Stone)

In The Shadow of Starlight

a winter’s night sojourn
out in the shadow of starlight
where sky’s black weave seems
seamless, back to all eternity

the pale gold dome of city-light
reaching weakly up into starry night
from warmer earth
to heaven’s frigid blackness

seems deceptively comforting
as if this shallow warmth could
be real in its pretense of stead-
fast shelter from the great immen-

sity of night and cold our frosted
mind and skyclad skin would have
us fear. Yet, if we look deeper, at
barren trunk and boughs of aging

trees – those reaching eternally sky-
ward, we see that they are, in our
now dilated eyes, darker than the
dim skies behind.  The dark night

lighter in hue than the shadow of
starlight we see on bough and trunk
and all that stands twain us and the
night-sky’s immense presence.

two trillion years of light beam
toward us and this frigid sphere
fraternal waves sent streaming
toward us, from distant dying star.

and though we sense so little of this
solicitous light, two souls close, in
all but unity, are pierced thru in syn-
chronicity, by this illuminating light.