Caterpillars creep up our black walnut trees,
Settle in crooks of branches.
Without eyes. They crawl out of
Milky veils to eat.

A man with nine fingers
searches for dry matches,
while a stray lifts his leg
over the last red zinnia.

The screen door with silver-taped crosses
Slams. Flies cling to it like meat.
Trouble, the trees don't know.
Small fires light.

Caterpillars creep up our black walnut trees,
Settle in crooks of branches.
Without eyes. They crawl out of
Milky veils to eat.

A man with nine fingers
searches for dry matches,
while a stray lifts his leg
over the last red zinnia.

The screen door with silver-taped crosses
Slams. Flies cling to it like meat.
Trouble, the trees don't know.
Small fires light.

Pigeons on the barn roof miss
One color. Mother's dress strains
A rope nailed to a post
With its faded message.

The curling caterpillars drop.
Across the dirt road, a cat runs low
Full in her mouth, a small kitten.

Under the burning trees, I tip my cup.
And feel the ice. It hits
My lips, again and again.