On the day you rode out of town for the last time,
the west took you into her arms.
The stars in the kingdom
whirled overhead to light your way
as you rode
between canyons of red rocks.
Coyotes gathered along the ridge
to howl your name
into the great vastness that waited for you.
There were no more songs for you to sing,
no more tall tales to tell,
nothing save a solemn and gentle stillness to comfort you
as you rode on ahead
into the fading light of the sun.
I ran to the edge
to watch you suddenly slip
behind the black veil
on the distant horizon,
astride a horse kicking up
dust and grace
behind you.
Ten years gone.
There are arrows I carry around
stuck in my heart
every day and
ink and whiskey and regret
that run through my blood.
Ten years gone.
I wonder when my time will come
to bury my bullets and go
into that darkness.
On that day I watched you leave
I saw a fire in the distance
and I know you are waiting there.
I know the embers are dancing upwards,
carried on a wind towards Jerusalem.
I know there are too many of us
following that same trail you rode too soon.
Ten years gone, I raise a shot glass like the Eucharist
and I howl your name in harmony with a choir of coyotes.
I am knelt before the opened arms of the west and
she is holding me.
