The maps of our hearts are quilted with plains. Plains of hot jealousy and primary red. Plains of smoke stains and silver ash. Plains of orange skies and artificial turf. Plains of rumbling steel and barren waste. Plains of radioactive desert. Plains of cloudy days. Plains of deafening loss and overwhelming peace. Plains of coded cobblestones and digital streets. Plains of blue coasts and green seas. Plains of cool asphalt. Plains of chrome mirrors. Plains of transparent nights. And we walk across them all, change these landscapes one footprint at a time. We raise up our temples from the dust and even these rocks sing. 

-- Zack Strait, Poetry Editor