“There’s always a place for an old horse
Though it can take no more to the long road.”
– Tu Fu, 768
Gunfights and gone lovers
crowd into dreams
wanting their stories retold,
yearning to be remembered.
I sort each night
through their purgatory
adrift except a dream
give them taste
of life among the living.
In the morning
I leave the worn trail
knowing one day
I’ll look back
on those yet alive
but now here you are
returning my eyes
to the light of day,
the fruit of our tree
upon slender branches
with a river of green
flowing out from every finger
to what wanders in the night.