Staring at a shop-worn leather saddle on a fence post, everyone has tired dog eyes and I am tired too, catching bugs in a glass jar, I'll never grow old and I'll never die, a ruby throated hummingbird, muddy feet and green grass in yellow hair, red-tailed hawk scanning the pasture for wayward and psychotic armies of squirrels, a fucked up field rat playing air guitar on a moist tree stump, a free concert from now on.
The hating hearts devour one another, speckled with brickish-red splotches like freshly hatched snake eggs, I've had too much death and loss, hanging vines, strangle-copse and swaying porch swings and windmills loved by no one.
Arms open and can't be caught like copperheads in the creek, a catching dusk has yielded marvelous results, each blade of opulent grass and a cush wilderness embrace me, salivating tongues out, everyone panting from bewilderment, the gentle cloud of pine-tree smoke, breathing in between soft whispers and making foggy mosaics on the window panes.