Poem For Friends

In Memory Of Jim Cody And Cecilio Garcia-Camarrillo

Perhaps you are roaming the Wild West right now,my friend.
Chasing the buffalo in snow-clad valleys of Montana,
the winds blowing like butcher knives.

You talk to a medicine man in medicine man terms,
I know you,Jim,you don't forget to ask
all the important answers.

Your Indian friends called you White Bear,
my Indian friends,the Ogallalla Sioux
called me less praiseworthy names.

But I guess it all evens out in the end.
I know you've found Cecilio
and you soldier on.

I know you two are writing up a storm.
In the mesas and the sierras
you urge your ponies on.

Valley after valley it is never the right valley.
The mountain ranges head north and south.
This will make a good story when you camp for the night.

Silhouhetted by the tongue of the campfire,
you gaze at the moon as it rolls along on the night sky.
Save a spot for me,amigos!