FLAT lands on the end of town where real estate men are crying new subdivisions,
The sunsets pour blood and fire over you hundreds and hundreds of nights, flat lands—blood and fire of sunsets thousands of years have been pouring over you.
And the stars follow the sunsets.
One gold star.
A shower of blue stars.
Blurs of white and gray stars.
Vast marching processions of stars arching over you flat lands where frogs sob this April night.
“Lots for Sale—Easy Terms” run letters painted on a board—and the stars wheel onward, the frogs sob this April night.