he leans toward shadowed hills
roll of thunder
favors them over sun filled meadows
spring flowers spreading in spring grass
bay horses run from him in a winding wind
bathe in dust buck in joy
the barn gray with age
leans in the same wind
he doesn't say much
she much the same
sitting on a broken cottonwood
sipping cold beer
he wonders
wanders in his distance
the spring creek flows through her
a blue heron spears
she splashes laughs at a blue sun behind blue cloud
he takes it all in
claims the moon is blue too
they speak in hesitations
a word or two
here or there
nothing more
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