Rolling across the desert,
a hat.
My hat is with
me through adventures,
from sweating heads
to a
Scottish voice.
Salty with sweat,
ears red, face burned,
I continue on my
trek.
Twilight comes,
the passage is
opening, it trembles.
The hiss
of death heeds
an impeding
Doom.
Named after the dog?
Kneeling before God,
the Fedora never leaves.
What about the belly
Of that steel beast?
Surely the hat will go
The Cup of Christ
waits on the horizon.
Rolling across the desert,
A hat,
And a familiar Scottish voice
Calling, “Indiana, Indiana.”