I want to live on Sugar Tree Road,
even though it is only a green highway sign passed in a blur
from I-70, Missouri -
Before the thunderstorm that dumps
sudden waters from a featureless sky.
Lincoln campground, Illinois,
we pitch the small tent.
Eat 3 bean salad and deli meatloaf with
wine from styrofoam cups.
Fireflies zip through the trees between
our campground and the endless cornfields.
How dear the night, your certain breathing,
miles from home in this
wet mid-western air
Lightening flash in rhythm
with the fireflies like a show.
I've never been here, I've always been here,
You are my heart's home.
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