H-R Diagram

Too late for walking,
the somber Dutch
farm houses, the Arts
and craft homes
have mostly gone dark.
The big street one
mile down buzzes
with traffic—the world
is awake with hot
rods and sirens,
there's a big barking
dog somewhere behind
my yard who just
sounds scared.  To
him, the sacred
stars mean nothing
while to know the
transits of planetary

bodies might
mean life.  Right
now a Honda hotrod
shoots down my street—
I can hear the neighbors
talking about the weekend.

I've decided to stay
as long as night
will keep me.  As long
as the cigarettes last.
I'm the crack of leaves
Blowing down the street!
Even my dogs know
it's too late.  No
crescent moon, no
stories to be told
on a cold walk through
alleys looking for cats,

raccoons, anything
alive, anything except
the din of traffic
in and out of the town.
Don't get me wrong.   We all
have some place to go.
watersheds, pilgrims' banquets,
that's all ahead.