I know the hooves of those horses will be echoed back to you.I know this because I have heard them at the bottom of everything, and like shadows they stand behind you.
Until your hands turn to stone, and your head becomes the turf in which they gallup on.
There will come a time where the sound of the hooves will fade into the blackness and you will tilt your grassy head back and all the horses will fall into the echoes of their own path.
You will blink your eyes and as the moon drags you by your dissatisfactions, you will break into pieces small and fragile like ash.
You will fly about like phrases in the air and the atrocity of this night is that the crows are stuck in the sky.
I shall bring you a bowl of your own notions and by spoon I will feed you until you are whole again.
The gawking of those smaller than you will cease and inside of your head, the soil will begin to cave in and it will engulf your very being, you will be swallowed up and galloped upon by hooves dancing to their echoes.
