Cowboy Shaman

More about Cowboy Shaman

Sun bleeding low on the desert floor,
he leans back between dust and sky.
Hat brim a halo, bones tuned to wind,
he listens where language breaks.
Spirits move through the ribs of earth—
coyote, crow, a slow green snake.
He drinks the horizon like firewater,
dreams braided with old songs.
No trail behind him, no map ahead—
just the long breath of the land
and a man becoming its echo.