Wheat Fields

Life is a sweet vapor that lingers

like the early morning mist on the

Kansas wheat fields in late August

alive for mere moments

   reflecting light from the first

      rays of sunlight

   creating new colors muted and bright

      nourishing the robust wheat berries

   floating gracefully atop the

      rolling fields of golden spires

and then in the next moment

   it is gone

I Don't Idle Well

I don’t idle well

As my body is forced to stop

my brain becomes a tornado of thoughts

wiping out my village of a peaceful moment

edging on my body to run into the safety of

busyness that I curse while wishing for peace

I don’t idle well

Am I waiting for everything

or maybe it is nothing

or a fraction of something

that fraction, that piece of something that becomes

a strange appendage making life lopsided

and peaceful busyness harder to grasp?

The storm in my mind carries me through

horrors of everything and nothing and

the damned lopsided possible appendages

I don’t idle well