I’m standing in my back yard
in April, in the cool of the evening,
Having just mowed the lawn
Carried the dog dirt to its chosen corner
And, a little earlier, watered the garden,
Though it is spring,
Because I like broccoli and cabbage
The suburban sun sets and I lounge
Till the great black blows in
and sets about her task to polish the stars,
Those old, old stars,
Rubbed dim, defaced by ages of careless usage.
[With nods to Ford Madox Ford, Joseph Conrad, and Stanley Fish]