Three hours of miles
away from him --
whole mountain ranges,
dry valleys of distance,
fields of sagebrush
wise to the faces
of the sky.
Of all things not dead
here among gravel weeds
and hollowed shacks,
grasshoppers are
sending out omens:
Each step is halted
by flash flutter of red,
“clicket clack clack
go back back back”
and what does it mean
if it's raining
where he is.