Knight (Poetry)

There is an old road, vivid behind my eyes
with its white clouds of dust kicked up
by all the hooves that have come and gone,
churning the drought of years.

I’ve stood beside it, hopeful, for so long,
watched them riding up then going past,
the seasons changing — sun and snow turn round
but, stubborn, still I keep one eye awake

at all times, search the blur of distance
where it vanishes into uneasy shadow —
the shifting smoke of possibility —
and picture him, his armour glinting, his purpose strong.

Sometimes I sense his spirit pulling close —
catch the far-off flutter of my colour tied
to his sword — the scented scarf a flag,
a streaming banner of his quest.

His horse plods like a heartbeat in the night,
sleeps on his feet, weary, travel-sore.
I see the rider nod and know he dreams of me
while the moonlight leads him on.