Spirit of the West

Not sure if I’m awake,
Or half a sleep.
My door starts to open.
As the light spills through.
A tall silhouette of a man,
Dressed like a cowboy.
His battered hat casts a shadow
Masking the details of his face,
Orange flickering glows like Morse code.
Cigarette clenched tightly between his lips,
He just stands watching me with a grimace.
Decapitates the cigarette with his heel.
The dark deep leather of his El Dorado boots.
Angels' wings carved into the shaft.
Strands of smoke dancing around his clothes,
Tipping the brim of his hat with finger and thumb.
He disappears into the shadows,
As the moon light catches his crown.
A musk of old cologne still hangs around,
The faint rich smell of tobacco clinging to the air,
My doorway now vacant.
A mirage, like he was never really there.

- Andrew Horner