Poem of the Month August 2002
	Three Stops to Ten Sleep by Richard Hugo Ho. The horses can water. We are miles ahead of schedule thanks to cool weather and a strong wind at our backs. Ahead are the mountains where we plan to build our city. Our bank will be solvent. Our church will serve all faiths. We will pass tough laws against fragmentation. Anyone threatening unity will be sent to the plains to wander forever. The plains have snakes and wolves and much of the water is poison. Have the women make dinner. We camp here. Tomorrow we should be close to that forest, and the next day we will find our place to live as destined. Stop. It is farther than it seemed. No doubt an illusion created by light off high snow. Then, the wind changed and discouraged the horses. They don't like wind full in their eyes all day. I urge you to stop this bickering. Remember, our city will be founded on mutual respect. I urge you to accept this necessary rationing of food. Above all, remember, every time you frown the children see it. Several already have been crying and saying there will be no city. Wait. The mountains are never closer. What is this land? We lost too many last night in the storm and those who remain are the worst, the ones we hesitated to take when we started back at the river. You remember? That town where we first formed? Those saloons and loose women? Let them grumble. We are going on. Indians know the right roots to eat and there's water in cactus. Even if we fail, wasn't it worth the trip, leaving that corrupting music behind and that sin?
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