What I Want
September 16, 1994
is to stand on a flat
piece of land way out in
Montana, where there's
lots of short brown grass with
little white blooms growing.
I want five wild mustangs
at my back, and one way off there,
over my right shoulder, just
a dot on the horizon. I want
the sky to be full of purple
clouds, my boots all dry
but ready for rain.