1.

The cornflower blue trim is the skeleton of the whale I die in.

I'm left un-rescued in a frontier where old dreams come to die.

To open my heart wide enough to fill all of Kansas requires me first to break it.

To break the deals made with elitism.

To burn the contracts these devils made with me.

In the field burning ashes of grief, 

from the dales in the Flint Hills,

and meadows of wild thistles, 

I am reborn.

I have faced the shadow within me,

in the stone house,

with the blue trim.

And I'm still determining who won.

2.

The elements are in a hurry to get somewhere else. 

The rivers carry the fish 

the water in the summer heat, in a hurry, traps them in these plains.

The wind carries the pollen and songs of sad daughters,

The house___ too small to stay. 

There's only room for the boys, for the weary.

I know that song,

and that type of grief. 

3.

Pain is a binding force. 

Like love, sensed quickly,

Creating long bouts of suffering when we resisted.

Punctuated with a lot of "I'm fine."

Undo these chains of sadness. 

Burn all parts of the past that built narrow roads 

of societal norms and rebellious ones intended to destroy them.

No rigid way of being can allow the human spirit to grow in all its necessary forms.

Just as the wind does to the pollen, 

it carries the pain away 

in many directions--- 

all at once.

4.

The grass sways without vanity. 

Passive in nature.

Easily overtaken,

the first to emerge,

grown in the spirit of sacrifice.

One does not need to rise above the rest,

because you cannot see the magic of the wind in one blade.

The memory need not be romanticized, as it touches the heart just so.