Mist white as a neighbour’s lie
spooks the immediate field of snapped hay strands
beyond the red-roofed townhomes
-rows of white walls facing down on
yards sloping towards me
sparsely populated by chickens with no heads.

A grey horse with an unruly mane arises
from lying on its side in a side alley
and ambles its way towards me.

It has no face
no eyes no mouth.

As I arrive at the dark sodden earth
of a farmer’s field where the houses ended
I knew that it was the end of the dream as well
and that there would be nothing beyond the tree line
etched into a morosely still overcast.

If I continued onward
I would simply awaken
and that this was what the end would be like
-it was not frightening or sad
but just was

and that in my life when I passed
I would simply be awakening from this dream
-our dream,
and I would end up here
somewhere passed those farmer’s fields.

I would go without struggle and
without ceremony

because this is
how things truly are
beyond the curbs and the lights
and the boxes in which everything has been placed
and carefully labelled.

A figure was approaching
from beyond the trees.
A tall, gaunt shape in no hurry.
It is not time to meet them yet
but they will come
as does the night.
As calm as a still sea.

Turning back I see
that the path had changed
from when I came.

The way back home
is a little longer.

It always is.