The Ferry to Clyde Oklahoma

I

The waves here are furtive
Just furrows in a plowed field.

This is an old Sea
Lost in an iron Prairie.

II

The travelers have all
Taken my name as theirs.

Those cobalt blue hills
You can see there

Are dreams rising up
As meditations.  Are me
Waking me out of myself.

III

An overlapping of perspective.
A picket fence of desire
To touch
To thumb through my life.

Wheat stubble sand paper
Dante Alighieri's beard

Johnson grass Timothy
And Big Blue Stem ...

IV

At twenty I tried to travel light.
Just not knowing.

Today I've got some luggage.

Like Walt Whitman
I can lean on a rail,
Face into a sea wind.

Copyright © David Dwinell 2003