That, beyond the dust cloud, is where the cornfields grow higher than my house. A scythe leaps at stalks now and then. Under the crackling leaves a patchwork dog presses earthworms with her nose.
Stars float farther and farther away.
There was a forest once, leaning against the back door. The screen squealed, clattered shut, trembling in a new breeze, and I stood for a long time under clouds and branches that cackled with ravens. A wind rested at my neck. There was no town. There was a face I could not forget.