Old Town
In the haze of a humid summer evening’s full moon,
staring out across the valley from the window of my room.
Men in the vineyard, a flash in the night.
I realized I was witnessing the Vineyard Homicide.
Down in the valley by the still riverside,
I was the only witness to the Vineyard Homicide.
The two men left together from a bar across the way,
setting out in a hot night of a hot summer day.
A gun, amazement, a man’s last breath
for no other reason than the thrill of a death.
Down in the valley, a rip in the night,
casual acquaintances, Vineyard Homicide.
Through the vineyard’s ancient tangle, in the cool of the mud,
where the trickle of the prone lifeless stranger’s warm blood,
and the steel disappears, and the silhouette fades,
and this vision from my window is burned into my brain.
Down in the valley, and deep inside,
still it echoes, Vineyard Homicide.
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