Prairie Boy

Extravagant sky,
expanse of blue with birds.
No leafy shade
nor spire or gable,
no clouds
mar this perfection.

Face up
under the great, blue bowl
he lies for hours
hidden
by rippling prairie grass.

They call him in the distance.
Come home now.
Come in.
But he stretches his arms
above his head to touch
the edge of the world,
sees the sun stealing colour as it leaves,
feels it folding warmth
beneath the horizon
and still he sprawls in lazy angles,
his cheek to the earth.

He is a fish gazing up
through crystal seas,
a dappled fawn,
a tawny lion lurking there
in his secret lair.

To rise now
would break the spell
and yet he knows
he can return to this magic.