All the Pretty Horses
Bajada, swale, mesa, arroyo…
Such linguistic physical geographic precision.
The “ribald satellite” rumbles the earth,
forging open the book—digs a tunnel
through time and space.
Forget your girl,
grab your pal,
and follow the path of a new-hewn Western.
Go South, go South,
Fall in love with a raven-haired girl.
And horses, horses,
all the pretty horses…
Lie down, let the nesting cranes watch.
Be a man of your word and your honor.
Fight the cuchillero—mátalo
if you must.
Seek love once again.
Return to your country something
Where is your country now, boy?