Paris's Boothill

out to sea countless miles hand to the tiller to find that brief moment on the crest of a twenty foot breaking wave as a nor'easter wilds the sea when you glimpse it in the stillness between heaven and earth she hid in her bedroom looking at a late fall paris passing rainstorm and on the run down east side facing the setting sun she could just make out another lover fleeing town with his creditors in hot pursuit he owed so much for the words he had abused up on paris's boothill the gunslingers and thieves wouldn't have ya it was in that darkest hour she glimpsed it in the mirror under the bewitching stars in the anvil of desolation's wasteland of high desert on the cusp of the suns imminent rise you can see it in the broiling fire as the edge of the world itself appears to burn you can see clearly that this end of your little world is but a door which you stand at the threshold many times in your life step into the fire or frying pan step into the next world you will live in or try vainly to escape into the past