Descending on Iowa

The Mondrian blocks and lines
of late autumn fields, browns
etched with black and gold
and then the blue-gray leaking
of rivers and streams,
edges thick with oak and maple
on fire in the sun, still,
how many years later,
the ground rising faster,
the grain trucks yellow,
the dust following, farm
houses ghosting by,
porches orange
with pumpkins carved
in the comedy of ghouls
and then we hit, skid,
and leave our mark,
rolling to the very end,
engines reversed.