Before my time
an empty bottle cast
where there was no road,
pink with a lifetime
of blistering sunlight
and I wonder who
a horseback threw it
now in the short grass—
legends in these hills,
weathered men,
drinkers all
coping with the times—
with bankers and buyers
betting on the market
and little chance of rain.
Or what couple when
lay naked then
in wildflower sunshine.
Not much has changed
except for the price
of a cheap bottle of wine.
drycrikjournal 