Faraway Climes

The grass, the meadows, the heartland
Unencumbered by the staccato strains
Of a life rushing in all directions
Even as the vistas open
The clefts of the seemingly
Unbroken surface
Into a verdant abundance

We exist like equestrian droplets
Galloping on a lost chase
Far from the steamrolls of a
Neverending dash
Against time
Almost like hitting an invisible wall
Each time
The winds buffeting the loosely hanging design
Of a solemn moment tattered sublime

From the cloak of a reading praxis
We still make stories
When rainbows hint at
Faraway climes.