Preble County Nocturne
Brown birds on the wire, western sky
at dusk still melt colors coral to indigo as
the sun drops behind Bulla’s
farrowing shed over the state line.
Though the chickens have dispersed,
the best part of the half-timbered barn came down
years ago, and the orchard where we ran died back
to tall grass before that, there are things enough
to remind me:
rippled window glass
hand pump in the cornfield
rusted wagon wheel
When dark comes — when
the milky way chases the moon
behind the Beech Woods and into
its cosmic creekbed, I hope all my laughing
days will follow those firefly summers,
dazzling the night without sound,
just like falling stars.
Early Morning Poems 