Penillion of Riding Past the Radio Astronomy Observatory Amid Hedges and Fields
       

Rabbits bolt back
Into the sack
Of shade, the gray
Penumbra may

Be a shelter
From space litter
Or some deep truth
Offering proof.

The sun is low
And hedge leaves blow
Red on the road.
Croak of a toad

Out of kilter
With cold's trigger:
Hibernation?
Observation

Of large and small
Arrays brings all
Cataclysms
And charisms

Into the range
Of rooks with strange
Penchants for glare
And curvature:

The dish hearing
Beyond the sing-
Song of the lone
Bird through the groans

Of the great flock
Flooding the track
Of light to dark,
To silence stark

As the traffic
Vanishes, marks
Revolutions
Of wheels and suns.

The sun is low
And hedge leaves blow
Red on the road.
Croak of a toad.

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Copyright © 2013 John Kinsella All rights reserved
from the Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission