i am a
horse
on a
carousel
with four legs
built to run
but i insist
on retracing
the same
circle

On a cold steamy morning,
With your  velvet touch
You muzzle my neck.
And I share your breath
As you welcome me back.

Whilst the coppery gleam
Of your shimmering skin
Ripples under my hand,
I lean against your strength
Feeling warm and content.

Your gentle eyes
Reflect the rays
Of the Winter sun
On the golden haze.

I weave my hand,
Through your shiny mane,
And my sigh is steep,
As you whinny deep.

I can see her breach the horizon.
Finding her way down a dirt road, that's familiar to me but not to many others.
A mare, powerful and strong.
No saddle, no reins, just her own natural force directing her where to go. She is beautiful, and her freedom makes her just that much more so.
I want to go to her.
I want to be where she is, in her world. I don't want to tame her. I don't want to fence her in, to exercise control. I couldn't even think of how to try.

Her magnitude is inescapable, but I must keep my distance. I want to approach her, but I cannot. As much as she attracts me, I dare not interfere.

For she is wild and free, and I am not. I wouldn't dream of poisoning her perfectly pastoral existence with my minutia. My world is one that moves too fast for her to be included in it.

So on the horizon she must stay, with all her liberty to walk on whatever dirt roads she pleases.

IF I could have stopped you.
I would have jumped in my car, raced to Hohenwald,  and slung gravel as I sped down your driveway, braked fiercely to stop inches from that guest house,  and fly out  from the inside of my car,  screaming, "Don't do it!  I'm here,   Uncle Brandon!  I love you! We all love you! "
I would have ran up the cedar steps, kicked the door in with my foot,  and yelled as loud as I could until you answered me.
No matter how many times I yell at your headstone, you never answer me.
You were a cowboy, traveling all over the country,  and seeing sights that many would never witness in their lifetime.
You had broken every bone in your body twice
you had a sense of humor
intelligent (two degrees), both in English and Teaching.
You had dreams of being a lawyer and
a college professor.
Only you were a cowboy first.
You loved to ride,  and you loved with a heart bigger than Montana sky.
I wish you had not left.
I miss seeing your dark brown matted hair, peeking from beneath your torn,  curved cowboy hat as you tipped it at me, with a wink,  adding, "See you when the wind changes"
You were a poet.
I think of you when I write,  and part of me still blames myself for not telling anyone about seeing you at my work that night.  You looked awful and I knew something was wrong,  but I didn't say anything--I have no clue why.  
You loved life,  why did you leave?
You had love,  why did you look?
We were your family,  why did you leave?  
I shouldn't be typing this
You are dead.
The world lost a true cowboy.
A man that lived by the sweat of his brow,  and the dirt on his clothes.
I would have stopped you.  I would have grabbed that gun,  and hugged you for the longest time,  and then I would have saddled up your horse and one for me.
Then the four of us would trot along to the highest hill we could find,  and I would watch the sun move across the sky, and tell you that every sunset of every day is always different, so you don't need to miss a single one.

Uncle Brandons last poem
   Im riding. Riding this way is like playing a finely tuned instrument, at times delicate, at other times powerful... The true artist can play with equal dexterity a soft ballad or a crashing march.