Elkhart.  Planed (horizontal)
onto flat plate of the fields.
Winnebago windshields
flock to leeward (behind motel).

I mosey through October park.
Light amid oaks, the old
Masonic bandstand.  Lake-bound
rivers intermingle through dark

Indiana valves.  Small-town museum
could be Russian (one
spare Burchfield windblown
farm, out of Depression).  Hum

the highways, south of the lake (U.S.
80).  Truck route, grain-
belt shuttle.  Hymnal (plain-
song).  Bible radio.  Esso, S.O.S....

Black Elk might have passed through here
(on the train).  The Buick
shuttles east-west, slick
with amaranth, milkweed... sheer

sunset loom-dust (grain elevators).
My father in rehab,
voice faint (grabs
phone with one good hand’s

bone grip) at the end of the line.
The left-side vision’s
gone.  Yet mind’s precision
lifts hoarse laughter (like a highway sign).


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