Iowa skies at night—full of white stars
(hot, they tell me, but looking cool)—
gnarled oak, jackpine and cedar
struggling—hanging on for life—
in and on the limestone bluffs that line
the Shell Rock River,
and my breath cloud at 5:00 AM
like Baez at Woodstock
have in common: Being Beautiful
and reminding Me of You.

by Kaye Don Young

This poem first ran in the May/June 2006 edition of Grub Street Grackle. It appears here online for the first time