cowboy poetry

gloom
a pen of steel
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
though i am little as all little things
why are the things that have no death
daughter, thou art come to die
storm
day is done
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
their beautiful hair
are you awake?
to come so soon to this imagined dark