A Man of Strange Beliefs

inklings of inertia flowing, 

knowing what lies over the horizon.

the Han does not reverse its courses

over wet clouds of submerged cathedrals;

danger lurks mid-brook changing horses.

a freeloader goes where food is sown, 

like a know-it-all forever knows, 

a forlorn man says "see you again"

while others know not to begin,

i say "hello; i must be going."  

blades of grass wave above the ledge,

grown in three weeks passing,

here i sit alone with the wind,

 bliss forever lasting,

bouncing off obstructions. 

drifting with what smoke disperses,

i lick the chaos from my verses,

recognize snags in yonder canyon,

landmarks of sweet affection,  

against tumbleweed distractions.

the Han cannot cease rolling,

return i here to witness,

lush green mountains rising over,

whistling through arrogant pylons, 

with powerful remission. 

     "I am a man of strange beliefs and ways of thinkin', seein' into the future and feeling things hard to explain. The trail I've been followin' for so many years was twisted and tangled, but it's straightenin' out now."*

*from Riders of the Purple Sage
by Zane Gray

august 29, 2016