I am struck again by prairie grass and color,
summertime and sunlight.
Nature declares herself,
between train tracks and a tree line:
new again,
and at the height of her power.
Goldenrod & Culver’s root,
fawn of a white tail,
at home in tall grasses—
spied in the heath.
Amidst pinks and purple flowers,
mountain mint, and blooming dropseed,
a silent proclamation:
“Wither ye, man and all of your constructs.
I am the wheel and the measure of time.
I will weather your dreams and sapless defiance
then crack you with weeds and claim what is mine.”