**Contest Winner**
by Cyan Orr [easy-media med=”8417″ mark=”gallery-kYUdjJ”]
after Wallace Stevens
Ears stuffed
against a wailing wind
the scarecrow (without his brain)
sets crayon eyes on the tufted tips
of Kansas wheat, bowing,
beneath an unmarred yellow-gray sky
to the undifferentiated horizon
and being mindless sees
plains, and nothing
more. He hangs on, still,
mindfully empty, until
defenseless
he finds himself
whisking away
wistfulness to fashion,
to fire, ex nihilo,
straw dreams of wizards
and wit.
Causeway Lit 
I must be getting old and too feeble of thought to grasp this poem. I am glad it won a contest.
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I must be getting old and too feeble of thought to grasp this poem. I am glad it won a contest.
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What a way to wile away the hours.
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What a way to wile away the hours.
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