The West Carmen Megeath

“The West was hell on horses and women.”

Then bear the peril of this land As if this place where golden grasses And the far view from the pass Meant limitlessness, A pure-driven blue Toward which that leap of faith is taken. And bear what cannot be borne, Mistress, Hard at the wheel, Your millions of rescues proffered, Your bones through a parched land where Sun and moon burn hours like matches, But the horizon is a future in four directions With promises of fair return. As if the West were that distance, that Self, that ineluctable geography where light and Pain and bird song mingle.