Dogs Of Summer

The dogs of summer

are barking at the filling moon

howling sweet-nothing’s,

maybe everything

waking up the valley

the cicadas the chorus

and leaves rustling in the wind

on an ancient tree

spared the fate of the forest

that once grew here

long before corn rows

and tobacco

long before rivers were damned

and subdivisions

started crawling

up the mountain side

long before

there was nowhere to hide