The storm blows you back
              its funnel ardent
              its wide hungry eye
Its tongue croons you
onto flatline of prairie

When poppies drowsed you
red breath drew
gravity into your limbs:
you yearned for tall grass
a narrow tunnel
of consciousness brain
heart sharp, nerve

Migrant loess skims west
You root back into plain
              – Call this home
              – Call this no place
Ground glows like ruby
dense and knotted
as blood

Kate Middleton