A band of mustangs grazes
in high mountain meadows,
ignoring the man resting against his motorcycle.
To each his own, horsepower is horsepower,
even when it’s twice removed from beauty.
The granite range the continental divide
dreams of the snow that will paint
the alpine meadows in white.
The weary sagebrush bend their heads,
grizzled before their time,
scud clouds portending snow.
2/8/24 Molly Fisk, poem a day
2/8/24 Molly Fisk, poem a day
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