it is the low light of a northern prairie evening
like the glow of lost incandescents nearing nova
clouds of tall ships sail for unknown ports of call
away and away and away plying the deepening blue
and everything is singing songs of praise
to our lady of blessed manageable monotony –
she who is the good of predictable lawnmowers
the hum and drone of lives lived and moving along
as small waves lapping endlessly on the shoreline
shadows stretch lazy toward the coming night
while air is ozone warm and electric with possibilities;
that chaos rides the cumulus
bringing a cleansing crashing
to wipe eye, and ear, and memory clear
leaving the joy of something new and unbeheld