Ode to Springfield

In Springfield, Illinois there is somewhere, a patch of grass
no bigger than me.
Across the road, a low field beyond a glancing reach.
To anyone, its worth is wind. Memorable as traveling sand.
A midwest grain, no bigger than one ordinary city.
Yet beneath lies remarkable dirt.
Beautiful as Lauterbrunnen. Rich as Ettelbruck.
Container of life and passing shadows.
Entire destinies asked to come and lay and rest awhile.
In two years that small patch gave its all to me.
A soft place to fall. To stand.
To grow its own life and mine by rains of hard tears and by night,
a quiet voice saying home and pointing me exactly where I was.
Saying go and pointing me exactly where I am going.
Inside I'll keep its grain, just one
to remember God's sand and all that I left.
My traveling footprint beneath.
And behind, so much held and spoken
between that small patch and me.