no guest of space

From up there on the ridge
a strange mewling, as of cats
strained through metal, the wind
no guest of space, more like
the other way around, cacti
and tumbleweed dragging themselves through
the scenery: red rock, dust,
shadow transformed into
golf course and middle-class lawn.
Isn’t it funny to think of dogs
eaten by coyotes, empty collars
dropped in sand traps,
masters’ names buried
in their disastrous bodies.

[/ James Galvin]