Lying In A Hammock At William Duffys Farm In Pine Island Minnesota

 Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
blowing like a leaf in green shadow.

Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.

To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year's horses
Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

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