Scat at the feedsacks,
it’s become a moonlit game
slipping shadows from shop
to horse barn, yips close
drawing dogs away.
A partial blur beyond
the Blue Oaks disappearing
up rocky draws, as I check
first-calf heifers—he taunts
crosshairs day and night,
breaks into my dreams.
But I am learning
to rise with the spotlight
flashing before he leaves
for a couple hours sleep.
drycrikjournal 
Shoot straight, John!
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