Robert Rorabeck - On The Cattle Drive

On the cattle drive we called someone boss:
The cook carried a bed frame with four knobs
Made of brass;
And it was only the sky that moved:
Moved, moved like a flag at high mast-
The flag of country of only one beautiful
Color: It was the place where in her tiny city,
Her eyes looking up from the table
Met the horizon
And defeated it.

Robert Rorabeck

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-cattle-drive/