On the way to Denver
From above, the clouds are always white. Color
is a construct. Words are bricks & mortar, studs
& drywall. Methane is invisible to the human eye.
Even this little bit of Nebraska, which may be Kansas,
is more than I can take in, cloud-covered or not,
the neat plots of fields & roads, wheat already green,
woods along the rivers still blurred & gray.
The arrow of an airstrip pointed northwest. The key
to shalom is dismantling: racism, patriarchy,
