Palo Duro

By Andrew R. Duckworth

There’s a stream from tears
Crying out from this ground,
Cried out in this canyon,
Tears for hooves
That will never march again,
An absence of neighs
That ended a way of life.
The eyes rest below the soil,
But watch as the trails
Are paved and the stories lost,
Drifting off like dandelion seeds
In a directionless wind,
Relegated to the appendix
Of an overpriced book.