I say bravo for D-man; you have already far exceeded my modest expectations in daily poem productions. Some days are longer than others. Like Gr. Barb, I was inspired to get in on the poeming; you reminded me that I had seen a poem while we were driving to Moorhead.

This Never Happened to Odysseus

I saw a poem today
on the prairie covered with white-gray snow,
revealed against the luminous gray-white sky:
A line of trees guarding the horizon
Back-lit,
Front-lit
by winter light, prairie light,
prairie winter light.
I drank in its startling beauty.
I let the wispy fingers of the trees draw on
my mind and
stir my soul, my winter soul.

And while its sweet, numinous taste
lingered still on my lips,
there came another regiment
and another--
it was a many-stanzaed poem,
maybe an epic--
with marching lines
crossing, reconfiguring as I passed,
performing with precision a
silent halftime show that
surrounded me on the field.
My mind whirled, lifted out
of my body; and now I could

see
myself in the poem
360 degrees of sky and
every valley lifted up
every mountain laid low and
a smooth
level
ribbon of road carrying home
my prairie soul.
My winter prairie soul.