Foundering in a sea of shimmering grass,

hidden deep in featureless terrain,

washed out in mist and distance

on the frost-wine streaked prairie,

they hold fast to their covenant,

communing under the vigilance

of migrating stars in the perimeter-less

autumnal remnant bronze bramble.

Heavy, wind-bent, resilient seed-heads

of Cone Flower, Blazing Star, Blue Gamma,

and Indian Blanket, all grinding down

on their slender stems, turn in the wind

waiting to release their burden

to God’s providence.

These are sacred objects of the day.