(A Sestina)

After a week away from home
we wake before light hits the land,
in the house everyone’s asleep
so we make black tea in silence,
tip-toe outside into the fresh air
and load up into our prairie Prius.

You drive. In the quite of the Prius
I doze and dream I’m already home,
no long miles or air-conditioned air,
just the gentle contours of our land
– but an abrupt swerve ends the silence
and any hope that I could sleep.

The interstate never sleeps
and as the worn tires of the Prius
whine, I worry and read in silence
the billboards: Try the down home
feel of Western Wear;   Ozarkland,
where we have hookups and free air.

You start making signals in the air
for me to drive and you to sleep,
then pull over at Produce Land.
I stretch. You walk around the Prius
to a plowed field and like at home
come back muddy. I drive. Silence

never raises her head for air, Silence
is smiling and sailing towards home,
Silence is you in the beauty of sleep.
Illinois, Indiana…      our Prius
carries us on into Bluegrass land.


we never know where we may land
it could be laughter or silence
it could be something to pry-us
apart, this trip was dice in the air,
a reminder to always sleep
together whether away or at home

now at home on our land
we let Prius have her sleep
and we can hear the silence of the air