Stars untether the boneless night….
There is a room where outside its smiling windows
The shackled skeletons break free….
We have borne winters soliloquy as beggars
In a field of blinded goats…
Wandering the burnt landscape among
The names of charred
She is spinning the wheels of rainfall
in a dress of fallen names….
Placing them in a leather glove….
For the next one to wear….
*mistah – Cheyenne word for ghost or great horned owl
From the stronghold