Percival

I couldn't find his name on the list. Mine wasn't there either. But it was okay, like moving paint Around on the surface of a canvas. You start out with something Then keep taking away Till you have something else or nothing. We talked it over in the OK Café in Casper. Got nowhere. I asked about Zulus, Vita nova, the mule; the horses too. He said oranges are good this year. Smoke and dust everywhere out on the plains. Carl Phillips' "Corral," with that mule alone Among the horses. So beautiful and right To the point. But was it Monk? T. with the big ears Standing up alert as a rabbit's. And that white man who had no choice But to hire the black tracker. Happy Bear. Big Elk. Running Deer. Save me a seat. It's a movie I saw when I was a kid in Chicago. And that David, back from Vietnam, Lying about himself, walking that long road. And Faulkner says it'll be there, alive, years later When somebody decides to open it. There it is breathing up at you. Not on the list? Not on the screen, Not even in the index to the archives, That dead area. In response you can hear Throat clearing back in that other room. And nobody knows what to make of it. Like me he's gonna become known For not being known. Could it be Because of those weird names—Sixbury and so on? Who ever heard of somebody named Sixbury? Or because we're under a moon Reluctant to come out? It never gave much light anyway. I don't know and I don't care. So, Saddle up the horses, boys. We're going to do some riding. This is a ride that takes us back in, deeper. The view from down there is unbelievable. You've never seen anything like it.