Thank God he's gone,
on his horse
of all colors-

we can take up again
the lives
he rode shooting into

in the blind
mask of belief
in the legend of himself-

and why should we have
to think we've failed him?
ransomed

these lives of ours,
let him ride off
with his guns and his needs

into other lives,
quiet as ours,
further west-

why should a woman
blame herself
for not knowing

how to ease him
down
off the horse of his differences?

Why this guilt-
we can't spit it out-
for all he will learn

when the bright
horse fails
beneath him,

when he comes,
hat in hand, palefaced,
blinking

in our daily sun,
for our blessing,
for a place among us?