Excerpts From Spring

                                                     Pawnee Homestead 1967




Along the winding path, a Swallow rings
from the damp wooden eave of the chicken coop.
A pasture breeze blows warbles and skittish calves
leaving cow pats across an insignificant palette of greenish—yellow.
Purple pops inside smoky rabbit brush, smashed
bright dandelions forge unrestrained along the milking stalls.
It’s like this every year.  I track the colors of spring,
pretending I'm prairie rose strolling across the face
of winter.













.