I am met at the crossroads by a horse of dangerous beauty
I am met at the crossroads by a horse of dangerous beauty.
"Ride" she says,
"I cannot" I reply "for I fear that I might come to harm"
"so might I" replies the horse "for my bones are far more brittle".
"Ride" she urges again,
"I do not know where you will take me" I reply
"nor I" she replies, "nor might I know if we will ever reach it".
"Ride" she beseeches
"but you have no saddle or reins and might throw me to the ground" I reply.
"I will not" she says "for I am gone."
It is not the horse I fear, nor the crossroads, nor the rare beauty of the moment,
but that she will never return and gone
she will be lost to all but memory and words.