a bus runs through bisbee (for Pam)

my mind sits backporch ensconced in its paper sill

takin in the thousand-holed ocean,

colossal weight of it

overflowin

satisfied journey brought you here

never thought possible,

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,

bringin that wet Texas wind to shoot right through me?

back in that Mississippi River city you were so obvious,

impossible to separate me from your other growers-

confusing-

distant-

insulated-

yet tightly, firmly peering at me

through my cracked windshield

so you created the two of us

way too cryptically,

too portending ,

you sucking perseverance from my alleged mystical self-image

now here tonight

your ghost way down the road,

Bisbee shines like a newborn

as the Sonoran desert moon crawls up these sleepy Mule Mountains

seems you figured out that one way train ride,

and now we are shielded,

buffered within our own separate stations-

elusive?

impatient?

dreading devouring each other standing still?

my mind sits backporch ensconced in its paper sill

not caring for regret.

you have survived well by hibernation,

but out here, see,

I have no one to bury these boots

smack me upside full of stars

and then teach me how to recoup this sky

once you came to my lonely corner no surrender,

but this time instead

you grabbed that fat chance,

punched your ticket back home,

redemption now way too distant

so today from my porch

I watch another morning bus run through Bisbee,

minus the cowgirls,

certainly minus this driver

Bisbee

1974