I know that the Elkhorn river, though it shimmers like a diamond
Now, in fact, is muddy, brown. I know the Platte across
The valley, brilliant in this sinking light, is inches deep,
And, likewise, brown. The air, I'm told, now shirtsleeve warm,
Will cool tonight, almost to freezing. What appears to be
Is merely transitory. Nothing lasts, and I, though pleased
With what I'm seeing, bear in mind (as Ingvar does) that I
Am aging. I don't think I'm apt to live for too much longer.
Since that's so, I hunger for the one thing missing from
This tableau: an unfiltered Turkish cigarette.