In the Going Down

It's in the going down of the setting sun

the jumping up of fish, the sound of a splash

in the soupy murk of dark water and the buzzing

of the locusts on a warm summer night

that makes me long to be there in here's stead.

It's in the utter beauty of crimson clover

over purple vetch, the Chow's refusal to fetch

sticks thrown and the hound's slappy tongue

that waits in wet anticipation for us to catch up.

It's in the happy fart of a buckskin horse rolling

in a rolling field, the burp of tupperware on the quilt

my grandmother made and the stars that never shine

quite as brightly anywhere else.

It's the knowledge that no matter how far you are

or how many years away, there will only be one place

that makes you feel like this. Only one time that's truly yours.