Too cold for chirping crickets
On this dead October night
Silence
As of the wide-open spaces
It is almost too loud to bear
I walked a distance
Still seeing nothing
But trees, grass and sky
Any minute,
Expecting a car to roar by
or a light to turn on
or a gangland shot to go off
But
Alas
I am home in the country
At last
The first poem written after I moved from Arkansas to Oklahoma