A biting wind wails across high mountain desert
silver clouds boil over mountain peaks
bottoms black anvils form billowy towers
the two Basque men quiver

three dogs work the herd
300 sheep move in circular motion
they climb on each others backs in confusion
move lie a slow cyclone, eyeballs rolled back in fear

scurry to build a massive fire
heat blown away in a windy roar
the sky descends, great dark beast
rolls down the valley with Banshee scream

Dogs creep toward fire, sheep huddle for warmth
day old bread hard as lava rock
herd dogs near by, the men bed down for the night
whisper of families, oceans afar

In the morning so cold that the sun looks metallic
great silver ball hangs mute
somber quiet of after storm whiteness
the sheep, the dogs, the men frozen in huddles
lost forever in sleep