Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon
by James Hearst
No country leads so softly to nowhere
as those slow shoulders that curtain the horizon
let us hold the sun at noon in this valley
for morning will not come again.
We will watch the trees grow up and the flowers stiffen
and brightly dressed desires
fade like women we have missed
no, morning will not come again
but here at noon I stand above my shadow
and balance on time’s edge—
PHOTO: Farm in Iowa valley by David Mark, used by permission.
POETRY and PLACES 