in a hidden pocket of his saddlebag,
riding past the titled windmills where
a meek preacher is sleeping on an old bench,
dreaming of a hawk-winged prophet’s
return to the distant and almost forgotten woodland.
A sign hangs above him that has been written
by hand in bold letters:
“Do not bare your shoulders, it will
cause you much pain in the future”
While somewhere in the center of town,
shoulders and long slender necks
arrange a distinctive pattern in the dirt,
like a zigzag that crosses back and forth.
Nearby, a young boy sits in his room looking out a dusty
window watching passing hooves,
hoping the wild horseman will come back one day and
read from his book … the words he wants to hear.