Passing

A horse glides

On the edge of dream;

A horse is ridden

On the edge of dream.

Does it glide or is it ridden?

The dream slides between.

Here she rides,

There she is hidden

Shrouded in gloom.

A flickering presence

Between Now and Dark Moon:

Waxing then waning

Ridden then not-ridden.

As light thins

A shadow passes,

A palpable darkness grows.

Orion rises from hidden skies,
 Hunter of the Winter Lands.

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