American West

Sun Airway
These tremors grow beneath my toes.
The crest of the ripple's dark red glow
like embers beneath the quiet moon with a lion's paw.
It keeps my horses captive like a band of outlaws.
Even the darkest night needs an ally
against the morning light.
And every word my lips suggestâ€"
that's between my lips and the american west.
Sat in the crooked range with a desert breathâ€"
the steadfast threat of evening hanging over my head,
over some jagged trains that fade from sight
and melt in silver rivers soaked in midnight.