amos settles his caravan

with a sweeping view of the meadow,

a commanding vista, the grazing flock within sight,

if only white pinpoints; or, if not, he'll find them

among the rocky outcroppings

where the sun is inviting, the wind tamed.

he will saddle-up theolonius,

whistle for clover, set out at a lope,

rifle across his lap, just in case. 

hattie rides up, arrives late morning with bread

warm from the oven, finds him gone,

makes coffee, sits face to the sun

in the lee of the caravan, watches the raven,

watches for a distant rider, her man, nearing.