I traverse the plain on a gravel grid
Left turns, right turns, always perpendicular
A jagged diagonal cutting from highway to highway
Beneath cerulean and cirrus

Six tires kick up dust so fine
It infiltrates the teardrop
I spent months
Making water tight

Small price
To drive through
This sparse, vibrant paradox
Heart of the prairie

A tabletop landscape dotted
With silos, barns and homesteads
Spread widely across the checkerboard
Of wheat, flax, canola and corn

To some, perhaps, a vast empty space
But from this tabletop to yours
Comes the bread
We spread the butter on