Size / / /
A singing in the south
the growing star
its blazing eye calls to you
its friendly winks promise intimate
revelations to come
its light, demure, drops from sight
the sky is clear
and you resume the breakfast hunt
you pause again
and cock your ear
immobile, there is
a singing in the south
a quickening rumble
a great shimmy
and a new sunrise
your train is coming
your iridium, your epitaph
your last, hottest, most memorable
winter's day
* North America that was, during the Age of Dinosaurs.