Back, sadly

I did write over spring break. Perhaps not a poem a day, but I'm not flagellating myself about it. I'll post them as I get them typed, unedited and unpolished, as usual; mere sneezes on the page.

Spring Break

Flight yesterday
quick and fairly painless
to a state
where purple mountains
really do exist,
in majesty, even,
silhouetted as they are
by iced peaks,
fondant-drenched
and brilliant, blinding white;
framed below
by stripes
of variant browns,
and above
by blues and grays
and clouds of every type.
Split rail fences,
native grass,
cottonwoods and cottontails;
we drink the panorama
with our pinot
as we rest in the
"smallest, cheapest" palace
on the "block."

The baby spins and slips
on polished, knotted floors.
Blond Rosie bounds, races,
across the prairie grass
after bunnies,
feathers flying and tail curved high;
her smile upon returning
matches the upturned lips
of my heart,
which is remembering again
how to rest.