Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly/Asleep on the black trunk/Blowing like a leaf in green shadow./Down the ravine behind the empty house/The cowbells/follow one another/Into the distances of the afternoon./To my right/In a field of sunlight between two pines/The droppings of last year’s horses /Blaze up into golden stones./I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on/A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home./I have wasted my life.

—James Wright, “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota”