Very descriptive and in so, it's rather strong but that makes it very elegant. I really enjoyed this peice. Keep up the awesome work!!!
Gorgeous, as usual. I fear I will be pulled up for a useless crit or two, but really, I couldn't walk by without letting you know what I thought, whether it's constructive or not. Perhaps if I point out what works well, then you will know for next time what might work well again. So bits that are good:
"fallen powerlines peppered the landscape", as if the landscape is so vast and bare, making the powerlines sound so small.
"the world grows larger with every step we take from home;" adds to the image of a large, perhaps empty world.
"until a pattern etches clear" ...just sounds good.
I would like to know, though, the reason why you don't use capitals - is that just because it looks better, personal preference, or some deeper meaning?
Very descriptive and in so, it's rather strong but that makes it very elegant. I really enjoyed this peice. Keep up the awesome work!!!
It was good, but I wasn't really sure whether this was of your best. I must say I liked some parts of it more than others, and then sometimes it seemed too kitsch for my taste.
My favorite line:
"I put my ear to the ground each night and listen for nearby trains"
This really makes the poem feel almost classic, like the mc is in a small, wooden motel near the railroad tracks in Small Town, USA.
My least favorite line:
"the unkempt grass of the nearby fields until a pattern etches clear."
I don't know. It was well-written, but I felt like it was just stapled onto the poem to show how good you are in description. I don't know.
Over all, everything was good, like always.
PS: I love these little pieces of wisdom you put in... like "and the world
grows larger with every step we take from home".
I agree with Matt about the capitals, that being the only flaw I can see here, and it's not even necessarily a flaw as capitals aren't obligatory in poetry of course...I just miss them when they're not there. 
Anyway, I'll stop rambling and talk about the actual poem. It is, as always, beautiful. You express yourself prefectly, and make me insanely jealous because you are ridiculously talented and I have no idea how you do it. You also leave me with very little to comment on, unfortunatly, as it's just beautiful and flows perfectly, and I love how you express yourself.
Your imagery is amazing as per usual, and I love;
"creatures born of the storm", and
"the sun....weathered",
and how it just sort of fades out.
I'm not sure about "pitter patter".It works perfectly with the flow, but the "pitter-patter of footsteps" seems cliche, andI can't connect it to the beating of the heart...but then I could just be looking for something to nit-pick at so my critique doesn't seem entirely worthless. *sigh*
Jas
As Matt said, gorgeous. Your poem is like a lullaby...it's lovely, nearly flawless in terms of sound and rhythm.
I think the transition from the first half of the poem to the second, from the beginning description to the meaningful ending, was shaky at best, and the ending seems a tad sloppy. Here's what I mean:
This is all fantastic. Beautiful description. You might change "didn't" to "doesn't"--I know it begins in past tense, but that sentence itself is in present tense, and changing it to "doesn't" makes the message seem closer to home, makes the sense of destruction linger rather than pushing it into the past.when the branches broke from high water
and heavy snow; fallen powerlines peppered the landscape,
distressed and stretched and dead. It didn't matter
because we are creatures borne of the storm, and the world
grows larger with every step we take from home
But here, as soon as the speaker "I" comes into the poem, it starts to get fuzzy. The transition from the description of shattered landscape to the speaker's statement "I will stay here" is awkward. I feel like there should be something in between the statement about taking steps away from home and the speaker's personal view of the place.I will linger
for the seasons when the wind will catch and toss
the unkempt grass of the nearby fields until a pattern etches clear.
The sun will have to leech the marrow from my bones, and the snow
will have to stop my lungs before I leave the land that I have weathered.
I put my ear to the ground each night and listen for nearby trains
and the soft pitter-patter of the footsteps I mistake
for your quiet, beating heart.
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