“Where have you gone my…”
Blessed be the outlaw the
Lone man lost, but
Found on mountains too
Wild, too free
To be tamed. This outlaw
This wild man wild
Like winds that blow
Through trees that cannot
Be found… somewhere, lost,
On the sides of distant
Peaks. This
Wanderer, this cowboy
Of plains and places
That cannot be found on
Any maps. Where the
Hawk sits. Where the stream falls
Down from snows that tumble
Down from skies which were dark once,
So long ago. This wanderer, this
Outlaw of songs that whisper
Through pines and that knock
On doors in mountain towns but
Once answered… once answered the
Door opens to aspen songs and
Freedom and winds that crest the
Hills and fall back to words sung once
So long ago… so long
Ago that I think of a man
Straightening a picture once and
Gazing back, gazing back with
Wild eyes of plains and mountains and
Nights spent by open fires beneath open
Stars that smelled of…
Rain of,
Such sublime, sweet,

Published by Matthew Henningsen