If you sleep with the windows open you will hear:

the barn owl and his reticent wings if you’re lucky;

the cats

on top of the roof,

shrieking when the grey one

and the black one and white one come around,

hissing and clawing to defend the fortress;

the cats,

mewing hungrily at the door when the screeching is done;

the raccoons,

laughing as the scuttling mice

use the distraction to change direction;

the coyotes,

happy in the vast field to the west

before the place where the city lights flicker

fervent with the mounting weather;

the rabbits,

withdrawing their noses single file

to burrow deep;

the wind chimes,

clanging and clapping in the new wind

under the moved branches where they hang;

the steam,

rising from the ground in the morning

as the light tries to pull through the clouds;

the rain,

falling into dreams that entertain,

disappearing arrows into the ground;

the farmer,

stretching his tired, aged back early—

shaking hands with the guy from the city,

clipboard and contract in-hand…