Another storm last night —
thunder explosions and rain
bulleting the metal roof.
I followed the trail
of red-brown feathers
through the long wet grass
but didn’t find the rest
of the rooster. Maybe a hawk
took him, more likely a fox
or a lone coyote. This world
is an over-ripe apple cleaved
into predator and prey.
The morning sky is latticed
pink and blue. When
did I become a man
who sees every blessed sunrise?
Lower Sunnyslope Opera 