Far West

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I am grateful. I pretend to be wounded.
I am grateful. I pretend to be alone.
I am grateful. I pretend to be wise.
I am grateful. I pretend to be competent.
I am grateful. I pretend to be compassionate.
I am grateful. I pretend to be grateful.

I like the way you look, extant world.

I esp. like your birds. And the water. All those
different kinds.

Also light is magical. Esp. through trees and what's that,
dappled. Dappled shade.

Music. The sound of sobbing. The idea of someone sobbing, collapsed
by their bed or in a closet, wrapped in a wet sheet.

The sound of a door slamming shut.

Wind across a flat surface.


Decay. Abandon. Kissing and bruises.


I am grateful and there is fire.
I am grateful and there is the void.
Filled with fire. Filled with ice.


In that western front movie the soldiers walk away from the camera
with their guns slung over their shoulders and their packs on their backs
and they turn back and look at the camera and then turn away again and keep
walking off into the distance and that is all of us, isn't it. It is those
boys and it will always be those boys but it is also you and me and everyone
we love.


I am grateful and that is no protection.


I am grateful and I should wish for no protection.




This life is what the soul craves in all of its particulars.




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