She sang the same song she'd been singing
since she'd learned to ride
he heard
strummed Folsom Prison on guitar
blue eyes
and bluer skies
they fit together like horizons and Montana
deltas and Mississippi
There was the show in Aiken
and a quick ride down the line
they spent the night rolling in Georgia clay
that never washed out
but neither did he
He called her Annie
She called him Monday nights
He went chasing rodeos to Texas
she watched cattle low in Kansas
kicking up soft sweet sod
that smelled of life and freedom
like he'd needed
and she'd taken
the dust settled
When her boots hit Corpus Christi
sandy beaches at the Gulf
she was humming
and she wiped her eyes
wished she'd learned to work a lasso
like he'd learned to ride
and cut