Crossing the Valley

Past the deputy sheriff in his sand-colored truck, through the curve of starlings, the farmhouses, fields, hawks. Nosing with the horses or cattle, a tired pronghorn, a lame deer, even a half-blind coyote seeks to stagger in the livestock’s sleep-worn steps, dozing in safety’s constant daylight. But the fences and warm stables starve us with order. Captivity holds our nightfall back. Like the dawn our hearts are broken.

- Ryan Scariano