Soft suede boots made no sound
He appeared as a ghost through early Spring snow
From the direction of the canyon they call Hell
High desert flakes dust his hat and his back
He led a pale horse with pale blue eyes
Steady and strong hauling his pack.
I invited him rest a bit by my fire
Saw to his horse, nodding he knelt
He kindly refused offered food or help
Took only some coffee from my rusted cup
Hands hard used but somehow soft
The flames lit a face revealing no age
Beard rimmed jaw, eyes deep creased
A gift of a smile beyond pain long ceased
I go to the mountain whence cometh my help
No need to question the man himself
I saw in him all he
would tell
He soon rose soundless, gathered his horse
To continue to weave his private course
I would descend to continue mine
Separate souls bound by delicate twine
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