The Bouquet of the Last Direction

A Poem by Frank Inzan Owen

When the soul becomes unburdened

it’s like a new saddle on a fresh horse.

Suddenly the trail feels right again,

and the strong horizon line in front of you as you turn

becomes its own form of soothing medicine.

Something of the sting and burn of the old poison may linger

but having crossed over from the Shadowlands

into new open territory, one can almost

pick …