We sop a meat sandwich through a bowl
Of steaming corn chowder.  A meal framed
with this fine autumn day.  We snipped
The last zinnias and laid them on the table's
Blue cloth and chuckle:  Is this curled orange
Peel you set down, rocking on a white saucer,
Remains of a dwarf orange star?

My scarred hand veined with workman's age
(Hilly rows of beans you say) touching your hand.
Our threadbare love draped across our shoulders;
a chilled wind finds our table.
We smile two smiles spanning years;
Three hummingbirds circle the ginger lilies.

Light shattered.  Collapsed.   Stunned silence precedes
Screams.  Sirens wail north south east   west.
                        

Storms rolled over
West Oklahoma
     Clearing as midnight nears
Hauling round bales to Amarillo.

Moon light bathes the rolling scrub land.
Pronghorn flee the diesel's growling compression.

Soon the warmth of our weathered arms
     Surround our common aches.

100 potholes
100 moons