Here I am living in Toronto, Texas cowboys loping through cacti, crossing horse troughs on Bathurst, toward Dundas Saloon, corral on Queen each cactus
What’s in that Midwestern river but miles of fallen leaves twigs, boughs, centuries of oak-silt and cow dung silage and corn silk, sorghum, motor
Jammed in his gray face, their light burned out, fallen in. Did it happen like a light bulb: Pop! then nothing? How much grief