attached to the wind
is the west wing
of the sod house green
while planting in the spring
I used to say
oh look momma
the sun is rising as the moon is going down
then look poppa
stop behind the plow
that cloud looks like momma
and like the summer rains
she has gone again
just the growing remains
everything I love
smells like Kansas sod
grown up now
still behind the plow
I kiss the earth
as she rolls over
dark damp and steaming
dinner bell ringing
for the water lost seagulls
— William J. Karnowski
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
Oh I’m all in a Kansa’s field! it’s swallowed me whole, and I’m swimming with my mum. It’s furious. It’s great.