Blessed be the outlaw.
Lone man lost lingering, on pointy peaks,
Too wild and free to be tamed.
Like a sad dog wandering
With nowhere else to go.
An outlaw and wild man wild like winds.
Blowing through trees, tossing up roots.
I have seen him and I have known him.
I have walked past him
Down dank and dark alleyways.
So praise be to this wanderer.
The sad man trudging, dancing down the plains.
Wandering to places we cannot find.
I alone wish him well
On distant and dangerous journeys.
He wanders as an outlaw of words that whisper.
Pines trees knock together, never the same.
While doors in mountain towns open and shut.
All while a man straightens
A picture on the wall.
Yes they gaze with sharp eyes blue like the sky.
Wild and clear, like lakes in the morning sun.
Where it rained last night with fog on the horizon.
And the sounds of songs lost
To distant passes in the rain.
Matthew Henningsen lives in Colorado, close to the mountains and the prairie. He grew up interacting with the land, and learning about the people who have called it home.