I’ve heard stories I don’t remember
embellished into local myths
no longer true, no longer claimed

as I age, as memory fades
as it should from the far context
of most outdoor youths.

Oh, how we howled like a pack
of coyotes in these canyons—
louder yet in towns avoided now.

But a man learns not to dwell
on guilt, what can’t be helped
to please the righteous—

evolutions of imperfection
honed into an existence
we’ll soon live without.


2 responses to “BLESSINGS

  1. John, I like this poem quite a lot — the mutability of local legends, our fading connection with the present, and, especially, the inevitability of being “without”.

    Liked by 1 person

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