Between the high plain’s grass.
Hands and bodies entwined
With barbed wire fences.
Chests rise and hearts fall
Into buffalo jumps,
Their bones shatter,
Bodies skinned.
But, “It will be okay, it will be great”
The warm breeze whispers.
Far from here, from now,
It will be great.
This breeze tangles
A tumbleweed brain.
It runs and flies,
Colliding with debris.
The warm breeze leaves
The weed, making it
Stop cold in its tracks.
It falls apart.