Ghost Child, and: City Lake, and: After the Diagnosis, and: Annual Migration, and: Covenant

All day the sun moved over the rock I sat on.All day I tried to think like an elk.I'd been drinking bad winefrom a thermos and counting the bladeson little bluestem. It was nearly darkwhen they finally appeared under the gnarled oak,brown legs in prairies grass. And there's the bull—disappearing into the blackening sky.