Rock splits to gravel to dust

And kicks away step by step,

Blows away wind-wise.

Can’t be seen much,

Can’t be felt much,

But each banjo strum

Brings it all a little closer.

Back together.

Texas heat cracks barn

Doors with paint lines

That branch, break and fold.

They’ve sharpened now,

So tend to the dry brush -

Cool the waterless air

With straw hat shadows,

And lacquer the oakwood boards.

Then wait and drop back.

Watch blazing hours give way

To a fire-glazed dusk.