We had a time along the trail, heaping wood
upon the fire, howling with the coyotes as we
passed the cup, knowing then it would not last
our lifetimes – that vast desert out there
unexplored and unlearned – never to return
to that ignorant moment we loved so,
yet have forgotten over years of chasing
something other than the sun that I await,
even now, for an early start in the dark.
The old bull knows his pasture, plods
at ever-changing angles, measures steps
and waits to make his circles sure despite
the news, those bellows ringing fear. We had
a time and know where we’ve come from –
how luck has let us live to say goodbye
to the flesh and hello to the taunting faces
of ghosts gathering at the finish line.
‘Great day for the race!’ Dad used to say.