She breathes, her flesh
with hair enough to hold cattle
and rain to her breast
should it come hard and fast
to fill the canyons. Gray clouds
linger with nothing left
but to offer color and contrast
to these hills greening yet
in Christmas Day’s last light.
Black from the bottoms,
sunset’s shadow crawls
to an island lit with rosy hues
dotted with the dark silhouettes
of cows and calves grazing
the iridescence of fresh green.
She breathes, her flesh
with hair enough to hold us close
to her soft breast.
drycrikjournal 