Over my head, I see a 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.