For Kell Robertson (RIP)

Your beloved Yeats called it
the rag and bone shop
of the heart
the place you store the stuff
collected down all those moves
those trails
with your old cracked boots, mi amigo,
you can pile up more dust
wedding toasts
kids cries
curses and cat purrs
maybe the last words your father whispered
but you step out anyway
sober enough
into purple desert, sunsets and cactus
loving every step
relishing every true eye,
every fine word,
every wild song

Bill Nevins