The
landscape from the window is too sere,
The
drop from the side of the road too steep.
The
wife will not leave the car or go near
The
edge of the overlook, but will keep
Herself
away from any risk of harm.
The
husband creeps up to the lip and looks
Out over
the valley. The sun is warm
On
his face -- New Mexico in June cooks
Like
beef on coals; the ground turns red to brown.
He
peers over, edging close to the drop;
Beneath
the cliff the tops of pines spill down
The slope
in waves; below there is a crop
Of
some kind that only grows in dry soils.
And
in the distance -- there! -- the farmer
toils.
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