Even On the Plains

This afternoon I was driving in the country,
and there came a moment when the world was even,
the east and the west, 
each side echoing the other.

Two level fields, with virgin winter wheat, equal in height
to my right and to my left. 

There was an early moon hanging opposite a purple sun
and the same hackberry trees lined
the brim of the horizon line for miles.

The land was windless and there I was,
perfectly placed in the center of it all,
open
and effortlessly traveling down the division line

slicing the crisp skin of the world

like a pair of
fresh, sharp scissors.