The day the Cowboy was wrong,
was a beautiful day on Earth,
as it was his last here,
and he knew it was coming.

He awoke, knowing he would no longer,
as the vermillion sun rose,
over the mountains to the east,
dissolving all fog and doubt.

Dust whirled to his north,
alerting him to the Great Spirit’s presence,
“It was nice of you to come.
You know, not many could do this.”

He heated up a *** of coffee,
and rolled one last cigarette,
remembering vividly coyote,
coming to him that night.

Coyote explained he was wrong,
and understanding so,
all of nature collided,
bringing with it the end and beginning of all things.

As a flash of a memory dissipated,
Cowboy listened to nature’s song,
a beautiful one, the sound of nothing,
becoming everything, and nothing again.

He washed his face,
and instead of burning that smoke,
he let it put itself out,
giving it back to Mother Earth.

Just as crow arrived,
and made sound that it should be time,
he followed crow,
knowing he was wrong.

Cowboy said goodbye to no one,
and his friends, they continued;
in the last town, and in the next,
but here in no man’s land, Cowboy was it

And so he forged on,
following crow,
knowing today, the day he was wrong,
was his last day on Earth.