Behind the wind’s skew,

the sky is alchemical,
the sky is metaphysical—

changing buff
to caprice sorbet

lengthening fence posts

quicker by the hour

interpreting the rasp
of cornstalks.

Wilderness has the power
of violet-orange twilight;

to see
through walls of stone

into the sacred wisdom
of an endless horizon.

It watches as rain falls

puddled, huddled
to be
lifted, borne

at impossible angles
into a distant stillness

where all things

are said to have begun
in solitude, loneliness.