Pieced-together flat lands extend
beyond the broad horizon.
A quadrant of wheat nestled
into angled fields of sugar beets
just pushing up to feel the sun
bathe their leafy greens.
A quilt from the vantage point
of clouds, puffing and rolling
their way across an expansive blue sky.
But rather monotonous from ground level,
blurring by at 75 miles per hour.
A river runs through it, a silver ribbon
snaking in and out of view. A foot note
to an otherwise unbroken disertation.
It seems impossible that it could go anywhere
at all, level and endless as its host land
appears to be. Until it arrives
For millenia, rolling water and undercurrents
carved a groove which deepened to a gorge,
walls which descend layer by layer
to a white and green swirl of activity.
Here a jagged outcropped ledge.
There a pile of car-sized boulders
where the wall gave way, how many years ago?
A grand chasm of diversity and history
which would be hidden beneath a blanket of crops
if not for the river.
What other flat, imagination-numbing scenes
only lack a catalyst to expose the
poetry-worthy beauty lurking beneath the surface?
And how can I get a river
to run through me?