Wild Covert Poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro

Pass the black cottonwoods,
and, enterin' the sage,
climbin' the gradual slope
Direction kept in line
with a western star
From time to time
stoppin' to listen…
only the familiar bark
of coyote and sweep
of wind and rustle of sage
Presently an outcroppin'
of rocks looms up darkly
somewhat to the right
Climbin' over the rock,
and then down to where
it is darker, and sheltered
from the wind
Usin' a saddle for a pillow,
rolled in blankets,
face upward to the stars
In that wild covert,
eyes shut, comparin'
their loneliness to his own,
Sleep comes