Shadowy illusions turned the head.
Peter Rugg and Jenny found themselves
On the far side of the continent, in another
Forest, country, century, further and further
From home. A bit of blurry white twitched
In peripheral vision among the young trees
Whose thickly woven needles cast a blanket
Over the naked stumps of their once-mighty
Ancestors. A darker twitch flew over
The roof of the carriage, birdlike,
Without the bird to throw such a shadow.
A body could hazard a conviction that forces
Of material import, themselves invulnerable
To material senses, were gathering there.
A thin piping from an unknown species,
A haze that burned old eyes to tears,
A moment of forgiveness, also an illusion,
Added to the general atmosphere, but Peter
Was still circling slowly further from home.
And what of the old ghost horse that pulled
The father-daughter pair? Where did she
Come from, why was she punished with this
Eternity? Ah, she was the mare. She was just
Bringing to punishment, not punished there.
No comments:
Post a Comment