Nowhere Indiana
June 30 fireworks
at the farm.
Spectacle without spectator.
The thrill of the spark
beckons and blackens fingers,
launch of flame
teases with danger of burn.
I am a lost witness of
verduous green blazing white
coral copper royal
against the fresh night,
pop and sulphur amid tree frogs
and the wind in my window.
Independence erupts
into cloud on homestead,
shroud of freedom
unshared.
3 thoughts on "Nowhere Indiana"
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The contrast between the language in the third stanza and the “shroud of freedom” last stanza” is striking. Your word choice reminds me of Keats’ line, “Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.”
nice and nice reading your poems this month with their customary gentility balanced by a hard left hook
Thanks for noticing!