The Road from Santa Fe to Cimarron | A Poem
by L.M. Browning, from a working collection
sanguine from Sangre
bleeding into the snowy roads
that lead to the hidden mountain
where the lone buffalo waits.
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What are we to do, we who require silence in a world of deafening din? The far-lung corners being as far as they are, where shall we carry ourselves?
The perfect, plumb ground too easy and expected bears no liking for those beings without wings but for whom heights hold draw.
Gathering dust in the mantle spun particles of God in chain formed the milky way.