at the top of a hill fire burning bush along the railroad cut boots digging into
calves too long out in the sun and the raw cuts across the dead land poisoned land
cows mooing on the dry riverside like a scar in the earth like god dragged his foot
in a broad sickle across the Northwest and here is no forest here is whisky burning bush
jesus land filled with fairy windmills and cerulean sky caught in the ribbon of the silver columbia boots digging into her calves balances rifle on hip sweat trickling down under black arms sandstorm brace mosin burning arms filled with scent of
tumbleweeds gone phoenix-feral by the tracks roaring like veins in arms roaring with
trains howling from ports down columbia way covered dusty and how the cars go by on the freeway
she shifts the gun
(wind blows)
and fires.