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At Jim Bridger's Grave

Jim
I've followed your trails horseback
on my own business
I was a guide
going about my restless work
showing strangers the country
getting them back mostly safe

Too, we're both famous liars
I love a tall one
and I've told your stories
in hunting camps
taking your tales for my own

Here in Kansas City
it is a rolling hills Spring morning
the flowering plum
behind your roughhewn stone
is in full bloom
but, Jim, I truly miss our mountains

It is God's own sky here
but the birdsongs aren't mine
nor that creamy sunlight
though the frogs sing the same
under the bridge
but that is comfort small enough

I miss drenched snow in the pines
and underfoot lenses of ice
which lie among the sage and clay
and brown floods in the April arroyos
of home where
the people know me and mine

After they brought you to this ground
how long did it take you
to get used to this claymound country?
feel it take you in for good

Make you its own

Melt your heart?

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Jon Horton

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