She weeps, a shimmering creek, as a wise gravestone speaks. There lingers a conscious who listens to the voice crow.
Cowboy Jordan Row, he was known, now as a distressed soul pacing a shadowed road. Black tattered strands sprayed beneath an ivory brim, hat tipped south to shield a gust of severe wind. Abandoned saddle teetered along a rock’s jagged edge. Tanned arms crossed along his broad chest, yesterdays dusk contouring toned biceps. Chestnut eyes deep and anxious, embedded confusion tethered to a human’s severed illusion.