Where is the horse and rider?
Where is the sword that was broken?
they have gone with the wind,
where the storms flee in winter
leaving ice and snow
a cold that clings
like ice to the pine needles,

Yes, needles that break us.

Each have gone away,
till horse, rider, sword
are lost in the past.

As if the rider
had no honor,
as if the horse, sword, cause
was a myth
we wished were true-
a story told over fires
where the smoke trails
into loopy rope spirals.