Free at last from your sanity routines,
On mornings when ankle deep slow-flow tendrils
Of mist ebb and trace the shadow-and-not spaces
Between ghost-of-winter honey bark beeches,
(Making lies of histories and your blind surges of truth)
I swear that I have seen
The dark shield-and-faith lord step out
On caparison’d, prancing dapple stallion
To meet dawn’s damson-moon light;
Though only sheep and bitter ‘daws
Now populate the ruined traces of his castle keep
And dragons be lost, with unicorns, in time’s jealous chains.
Perhaps he knows this, perhaps not;
But still he rides out for his people –
As he always did!