For The Territory
Lights out for the Territory
one day (you know it's coming)
speaking with snakes as he crosses
the riverbank, and shakes the grass
and watches how the horizon rolls
Humps an old pack, wears a GI poncho
almost water-proof, plastic around the clothes
a single book that keeps changing its words
the poetry of the world busy in a storm, cars
rush past him, sometimes a driver honks
Direction suggests itself in wind
the wind is directed by hope, and it
might have been assisted by love, if it
had not just started to piss down, if he had not
just seen a bolt of lightning explode a tree
After a while he starts laughing hard
with what will certainly be glee, the gods
are as wet and cold as he is, while the Territory
recedes and succeeds till the gray sun rises
and when he rounds the bend it is waiting.
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