VIGNETTE (1879)
Some once-great man was hiding out - iron links
on his fence posts, two rifles on his horse. There, where
the last of today was passing, someone else had hung
a warrant and a dream. The Winter blanket of snow
kept them from falling back. He turned to the rider
with him and said 'Over there, behind those huge
boulders, I will take my turn at outlasting fate.'
-
Night is a vicious thing when it slumbers too long.
We know - it is said - the wages of Sin but throw
its caution to the wind nonetheless. The fire had
embers of memory, still smoldering ideas and a
kettle of black dreams. He sat back, lazily now,
and said 'Perhaps I am ready to die. No matter
all this.' His rider stood up straight and howled.
-
Like magic, like chance, like something frenetic that
drops from the sky, we stand in line and in awe watch
what fire descends and, before it was over, some Gods
had dipped their mantles into this human affair - and
rescued only the meek and the good. For what difference
it made it all mattered little what transpired that night.
An old man was dead, the sky was ablaze and - as it
seemed - one lone rider slow-trotted away.
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