crashing crimson chaos on summer blue
as night closes steadily.
a grand red poker chip
glows and rides slowly down the sky
drawing a blind tight behind it.
prairie days end like this
fading away like old soldiers
until way on the horizon
far ahead on the flat land
the glowing seasonal disk
pauses for a moment
almost gone from sight
but burning like fire
through the wind bristling
heads of summer grain
Burning momentarily in a
long scarlet gash
A moment gone
the ride is resumed
it dips into darkness
nearly deep as death.
Ian David Artlett
Peterborough Poets 