The rains of Kansas
smell like wet leather
In the winter all you can smell is frost.
Half my life ago I was a boy
and I left the plains
for a grander life in the city.
But the prairie breeze never left the boy.
You don’t travel here
so much as drift.
Sky so big you can hide forever,
and a lifetime away
the horizon waits patiently for you.
All the things inside of me
are so much nearer than I admit
(at least to myself).
It’s true that I recognize the dirt roads
and the familiar smell of wheat
but this place isn’t my home
and neither is anywhere else
that can be seen from a rearview mirror.