Five horsemen, brothers,
wind their way down switchbacks
to the floor of Bryce Canyon.
Wild wind, wails through rock windows, 
around pink and red hoodoos.
Sun wind rock sky scrub
disorient the riders.

Red dust coats their boots,
red sun beats on their backs, their hats.
Blood slowly bubbles 
from the neck of brother Joe,
fourth of five,
struggling to keep pace,
singing
“I’m going there to see my father
I’m going there to meet my mother.”

Ahead in the shadows
of spires near Sunset Point, 
stands a man in dark glasses,
patch over his left eye,
pointing to the East.
The riders approach,
the man disappears.

Five horsemen, brothers,
persist on the journey.
Ride through a dry arroyo,
horses kick up red earth.
The horsemen know who they are,
they know where they are from,
they are on their way home.