The West
there are places…
out west
where all there is
is quietness
where souls are healed
by letting go
of all that
never mattered
beyond the man-made din
of life’s raucous clatter
there are places…
here out west
of clarity
where you see every star
on a night’s display
however far
when wasted light
is left behind
along with blinding pointlessness
that once got in the way
there are places…
here out west
where people
are still simply true
who understand
the who that’s you
how to give and leave you space
share pain and joy
can mend a fence
most of all they still make sense
there are places…
here out west
like a Stegner dream
where bluebirds sing
to the lemonade spring
and rivers thrive and all is grand
way out here on Abbey’s land
where native spirits still survive
roaming on forever
in a perfect place
for a final stand
Brooks Bradbury 