I knew at once , for me it came,

riding hard agaisnt the dry ground, pale of sun

fire days.
I sat, watching, with no foreboding, silent as it struck the earth
between us, waving as if greeting a friend lost.
Hands of sinew stretched thin towards my seat. And I
foolish welcomed them with glee.
I can never say what overcomes my nature or if that drieness of
moment to dispair is my very nature. But certainty does form within
as thought threads itself into the cracks that trace the ground between
the rider and that man that waits, and I sometimes recognize as me.