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| Deep sky ever-changing |
No human sound, no engines,
no manufactured outrage,
Sunday hilltop interlude in church country,
deep sky ever-changing,
theaters of weather footlit by evening,
an easy, short-lived rain hushing in the corn,
the dirt road's dust pocked beneath the trees,
while in the solitary house,
kitchen yellow at its windows,
supper dishes rinsed and racked,
talk of treatment ends —
best tonight to leave the TV off
and sit outside,
for sadness will rise up around them if they let it,
this couple of long-standing,
shoulders touching on the glider
as the sun goes down behind the barn,
less need for words with years,
silence valued by the wise,
listening to the finish of the day, its quiet passing,
the consolation of the doves' reprise.
