Prayer For The Gunfighter

I'll say a prayer
for the gunfighter
armed with a holster
filled with stones.
He rode into town
low and lazy
in the saddle of the sunset
with the changing wind
at his back.
I'll keep in my thoughts
those eyes that never meet mine,
always searching for a place to hide,
one step ahead
of the hanging party's gallop.
He looked into the chambered weirs
of the tourist fish ladder
and remarked to his sister
that the life of a salmon
is nothing but everlasting struggle.
He would know
having gunned down so many ghosts
only to have the sky in his head
burst with the faces of countless others
all taunting him to draw.
I hugged him goodbye
as he rode out
continuing his flight
along the outlaw's trail,
free and clear
from the voices of the mob
and the gallows pole.