Kansas

            When you find yourself in Kansas, write me a letter. I know you remember my address. Write about the endless wheat fields and the dirt underneath them, how you tried on a straw hat and wanted to eat a burger. Tell me things. We’ve been wandering like worm trails in a red apple; we might be following our noses but it takes in random directions. Sometimes paths cross. Maybe ours never will. Make Kansas your marker, and even though a letter is just a letter, make it only our own. Then I’ll know that you’re still out under the sky.