Same Path Over

a desolate coyote moon large and yellow bent cracked shrubbery small and grey a man in a suit blood on his hands hide dirty fingernails Lady Death in his wake in his shadow in the core of his mind a stranger in a desert cigars in the pocket pebbles in the shoes walking ever-onward passing us going through us leaving the slightest drop of the Lady with us a trail of breadcrumbs and one day the moon will rise the shrubs will die and the man will retrace those steps to harvest what he's left behind