End of a saga

between the canyons,

echoing off the walls.

threatening to blow the lid off,

blow the whole thing up.

Its off, and so are you;

are we; are they.

Its the end of an era,

the first look back,

a glance inside,

between the laurels, where the horses gallop deftly in between seasons.

and leap, over my head, and yours,

out into winter.

out into that sweet, sweet wild

out into a different direction entirely ,

to where they aren’t any horses any more,

Out where there are just some good ideas, a few at least — roaming around.

Accompanied by a ringing numbness in your fingertips,

and everything itching all at once,

but not in a poison ivy kind of way

out to where there are no more horses/ and no more blocks,

and no more poison ivy,

but ill miss it none the less.