It was a raining of dreams,
like stars falling on the edges
of safe harbors, encouraging the
heroes we have inside as
visions of advancing shadows
pressed through a gray descending mist
until images of horses appeared;
their muscles burdened with motion,
running past, thundering the ground,
until blending into black curtains.
The forest is thick with trees. Canopies
of leaves shelter the savannahs below.
There is a wide path taken by travelers
moving forward, confident of the place
they know up ahead.
Roger Singer 