In the northwest, the last crimson reminder of a prairie sunset.
In the southeast, a full moon two full fingers above the even horizon.
Between them, an infinite cloudless gradation of blue and starsparkle.
Across the narrow lake,
four lanes of pavement streaking east and west across the Plains,
a miles-wide corridor of stink and noise,
a never ending cavalcade of dolby-grumbling, diesel-fuming
semi-trailer trucks, their red and yellow running lights mirrored
upside down and lengthened in the glassy surface of the lake.