What I Want

September 16, 1994

is to stand on a flat

piece of land way out in

Montana, where there's

lots of short brown grass with

little white blooms growing.

I want five wild mustangs

at my back, and one way off there,

over my right shoulder, just

a dot on the horizon. I want

the sky to be full of purple

clouds, my boots all dry

but ready for rain.