Clouds stream the San Pedro Valley.
Strange to think of clouds as earth-bound things,
like sheep, though not Biblical ones (lamb-white and downy)
but rather desert born, burrs snarring wool, black bellies.
These sheep corraled against the mountains,
herded north through the valley, graze up the foothills
so only the snow-capped summit waves a flag of peace.
Herding season as though on the Navajo Nation,
so many what is left is a shape of color.
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