Drab-headed,

Wind-planed,

Butte-faced to the South,

Spidered with pine-choked gorges to the north,

Feeding tiny creeks,

Watering a patchwork land,

Painted with man’s gardening hand,

Winding thin and weak across the farmed flat,

To feed the widening snake,

That dies on the pint of a spear point lake.

-In sun-refracting cloud, at 34,000 feet