A horse glides
On the edge of dream;
A horse is ridden
On the edge of dream.

Does it glide or is it ridden?

The dream slides between.

Here she rides,
There she is hidden
Shrouded in gloom.

A flickering presence
Between Now and Dark Moon:
Waxing then waning
Ridden then not-ridden.

As light thins
A shadow passes,
A palpable darkness grows.

Orion rises from hidden skies,
 Hunter of the Winter Lands.



No comments:

Post a Comment

What do you think?