-Sun-

The Sun will explode in five billion years

But I’ll be very old and ready to go.

I'm looking into a more stable environment for the dog

Get him out of the city before it's too late

Maybe a quiet cattle ranch in southwestern

Oklahoma where rumor has it that the Sun

Allows for certain exceptions to its inevitable end.

He can run around chasing the old pickups

Delivering farm-fresh vegetables,

Spare parts for a neighbor's cranky machinery,

And the doomed, crate-stuffed chickens
Traveling fast in the dust 

Along with the breakfast eggs they made.

The dryness of the narrow roads

Link the small distant farms with a frayed hand,

Dry planet to dry planet. Murmur of bloated tires

And the muted, throaty calls of four-

Legged animals in late afternoon are the tread-worn hymns —
The songs of rural America, lucky dog.

The luckiest chickens are the few who get to stick their beaks

Between the wire-looped slats to the rushing air for one last breath.

When the cool-blue Moon rolls over the silos everything moves

To the front porch and to stillness.

Songs of vibrating crickets harmonize with the slow

Creaking wood of the rockers under infinite skies.

Dog sleeps at their feet in southwestern Oklahoma.

As for me, I’ll be very old when the Sun explodes.

writ in 2011