Four A. M. On the Farm
No cars have gone by for hours.
Our white cat wears the fog
easily. In the barn eggs grow
into chickens, chickens into eggs.
Everywhere green fields slowly turn
to milk. From five miles up
the sound of a jet floats down
softly . . . inside,
men from Tokyo
dream of the strange farms below.
For them it is noon. They sleep
against the quiet argument of their bodies.
In two hours they will land
in New York with the sun. For myself,
I wish them well. I will be
in bed soon. A box-elder bug
walks into the house through an entrance
that has nothing to do with me.
—Al Zolynas
—found in The New Physics (1979)