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.