Across a wood-grain bar in southern Minnesota on the way to Buddy Holly roller coaster in slower Iowa, I lay a few dollars on the bar for the sixpack of Blatz (cheapest they got and straight from ... [+]
The birds sing As I sit in stagnant heat Hands on still oars, And the lake mirrors the sky So perfectly That I stand up and dive down Toward the heavens, And among the clouds, Before the water breaks my wings, I understand their song.