Defiant virgins, fiercely unpossessed As the bird-stars that walk the night untrodden. They drag their skies and sunsets after them Like calico ponies on a rawhide rope, And who would ride them must have iron thighs And a lean heart, bright as a bowie-knife.

Were they not foaled with treasure in their eyes Between the rattlesnake and the painted rock? Are they not matches for vaquero gods? Are they not occupation for the strength Of a whole ruffian world of pioneers? And must they wait like spayed mares in the rain, While Carolina and Connecticut Fight an old quarrel out before a ghost?