Full of Wild Letters

The morning crashed in and
Made a new window, broke the seal on the vacuum
That was keeping all those dreams so crisp;
Now I have to think about them all.
Like this one: The old man with a pistol and a vendetta
Who chased me across three states. Something about
Something my family had done, before my time. But
That didn't make any difference. Sins of the father,
And all that. I woke up just as he found me
Where I had run to ground in the city
Where I grew up and just before I figured out
That I was going to have to kill him, or be killed by him.
That was just one. The past week has been full of them,
Full of wild letters. Secrets about the giant slipping engines
Grinding away under the earth, and something
I was supposed to do about them. There was a schematic
drawn on the lid of a box. With that done, I just want
To forget. I want to put my own pistols away
And stop drawing them down on old men.
I want to welcome Persephone back topside
When the four months are over.

©2008 Timothy W Holland