he spoke of his soul
fused to the aching of the land

	how his heart
	wept
from the scent of mingled
blood
	from beast and man

who should have seen
their fate,
	he tremored, as an equal fight

no one wins when a wing is torn
	or a bullet lies to rust in
the scourching sand . . .

not to fly as one, said the Indian,
	is a repeated Death to all.

he left me with this:  he said he would jump the
cliff
	if he knew the Wolf and the Man
could lock gazes with
	distant admiration.

i turned around, thinking,
	hoping, 

that when he jumped,
he'd make it to the other side.

then i left just hoping there'd be reason enough
	for him to jump.