O Wyoming!
       

The little red road
hums to itself in the valley
losing the light

the harpsichord of sparrows
shatters in the flawless air
snippets whispering to the brown florets

the presentiment in the stone
keeps me on the ridge
disclosing myself to vastness

and the bare gold laid on hilltops
floods my skull
spilling my ration of will

l am
l am

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Copyright © 2017 Ben Gantcher All rights reserved
from Snow Farmer
CW Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission