at noon
there are no shadows
and everything is
glinting
the ponds, the roof, the silver tooth
of an heirless farmer
squinting 

his cattle
board a flatbed ark
black and white
their eyes
flicking flaccid pom-pom tails
to swat away the flies 

he slumps
against the lee curve
of a silo
mallard green
picking paint chips
faded
as the coat of his machine 

thinking of that
John Deere
upon the auction block
he rubs his eyes and scans the skies
just like the weather cock 

into a foreclosed homestead
he goes
to find his wife
writing FRAGILE on a box
wrapping up
their life