November 19th, 2007
Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
The last line like a shovel slamming against your chest.
Or maybe not, maybe just two firm hands seizing your shoulders, shaking you, then turning your body and setting your feet upon a different path, & a voice saying: “Go, make up for lost time.”