After Shane

She imagines a gun so clearly
that her pointed fingers smoke
and drag her arm down with their weight.

All bullets spent, her rifled throat
still echoes with the shots
and lungs click click on empty chambers.

She sees the wall, red veiled,
as splatter patterns speck her eyes
and blood drenched words fall dead.

In holstered silence, she walks towards
the gathering sunset of tunnel vision
and no-one calls her name: come back.