a bus runs through bisbee (for Pam)

my mind sits backporch 

ensconced inside its paper sill,

takin in the thousand-holed ocean

colossal weight of it all,

overflowin

satisfied journey brought you here,

unthinkable,

as i resolved to go it alone 

my preferred way,

the befittin place

so who are you to rescue me?

some midnight Dale Evans ridin into town,

lassoin some wet Texas wind 

shootin right through me?

back in that Mississippi River city it was obvious,

impossible separatin me from your other fans

cept when peering at me 

through your cracked windshield

but somehow the two of us were created 

though way too cryptically,

way too portending ,

sucking perseverance from our alleged mystical self-image  

tonight with your ghost way down the road

this town shines again like a newborn,

as this desert moon 

crawls up these sleepy Mule Mountains

you figured out your one-way train ride

and now we are insulated, 

buffered by separate stations,

however elusive,

yet still devouring each other across the miles

this mind sits backporch 

ensconced inside its paper sill

not caring for regret,

we may have well survived by hibernation, 

but out here

no one to bury these twisted boots 

to smack me upside full of stars

to show me how to recoup the sky

we grabbed that fat chance

and punched our tickets back home,

now today from my porch

I watch the morning bus run through Bisbee

minus the cowgirls, 

minus this driver

Bisbee, 1974