He couldn't say just when
the valley closed like a lock:
before and after, still the same

mesquite-invaded hills, stingy creek,
dusty cattle stung by screwworm
as they drifted round the water tank.

The usual special at the café
by the Conoco station: steak (tough cut),
potatoes, wedge of iceberg drowned in ranch.

She always filled his cup
before he thought to ask, and as
the wind pursued the moon, they heard

its gusting test each door and gate
and modulate between the windmill blades,
fluting a song they always recognized.

On midnight's isolation, a poultice of stars.