In a desolate corner of Nevada, here,
she has an unquenchable presence.
I return here daily and dodge tumbleweed
to watch her rise from her long deep sleep,
and I breathe in all the coolness of Sierra.
Not just words on an old poet's page,
or ripples on a faraway desert stage,
not just unseen history gone in the wind,
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: cowboy,hope,morning