Walking this abandoned field I am looking for something inside myself, an old
shovel perhaps or some evidence of planted seed.
I come upon a tree
much like one I used to climb as a boy & lying down, my eyes
roam over the frayed hatband of evening sky.
This is how I used to feel loving you.
How sweet the air smelled then, like rain in Nebraska after a field was plowed.
Now all I can see is this tree & the memory of how high we once climbed.