I'm tattered too
without the pictures
to prove it.
I confess.
I confess.
Listen instead
to the grinding launch
of my metal boat
rather than to
my pictographic tale.
I do like to read
the symbols
and drink the tea
down to the leavings.
I will leave again,
I think. And these
mountains, this sagebrush,
those coyotes,
none of my friends here
will be displayed.
You will
just have
to ask.