gone

i remember when we were parked
out by the reservoir
you told me of a ghost you’d seen
walking through the woods

don’t look
it’s gone already

the best times are when you’re happy
and don’t know why
you just smile and think of nothing
for awhile

don’t look now

exile

the old wolf sleeps with loaded pistols
his burning thoughts whisky-fuelled
tumble into crystal darkness

sometimes he drinks with exiled princes
in a bar near the reservation
he admires the tattoo
on the breast of the stripper
shows her the devil
on his back
smokes smuggled camels
from across the border
says come spring he is going back
to the girl with the orange dress

the nights up north
are an empty goldmine
winds howl like dogs in hidden shafts

the old wolf sleeps with loaded pistols
the old wolf thinks
of going back