Member Poem

              Time now vanishing
              like a wild mustang
              beyond the mountain
              after a gunshot,
              all the corrals
              filled with rattlesnakes 
              and pale riders
              on fence posts.
              As chickens peck the ground
              where the widow passed,
              a stranger mumbles
              that Grandma Moses
              would have never
              painted this place sober
              in the wintertime.