We flew to Houston
and walked by the apocalyptic space suit.
Bunny had landed here from Michigan with his loot
of stories, chapters of his invention
that he told to Cal and Lucie with gumption.

American red buds are in bloom,
After thunderstorm and rain, no gloom.
Gardeners are busy on Sunset, and yet
Seventy-one years have set.

Time we know or believe so,
It has a beginning, no end in tow,
Just a hidden horizon
Of expectation and jubilation.