Dying Friend

A Dying Friend

Is like wheat ripening alone
near a stand of oaks,
with only the wind to stroke
its back on the quiet days.

Now in August even the raccoons
have turned their backs on the fields,
heading for water.  A car

glides by imposing its monochrome blankness
onto the moment that the seeds
begin to loosen in their husks,  

as if getting ready to fly.