[This is very much still a work in progress.]

Dark horses crash through my dreams
Crushing grasses and wildflowers
Muddying meadows
I run, clutching my fraying rope
Determined to catch hold and surmount
Tripping on roots and rocks
Bloodying my hands and feet
Panting, gasping, I run
With the dark horses
Finally, finally, atop my borrowed thestral
I turn back, always back, weeping for
The flower here, the grass blade there
That survives

Survives until the scraggly
Ravenous, sneaky day wolves
Devour the world
The pack hunts so quietly, so efficiently
Even my thestral, tethered,
Falls beneath their multiple mouths

No rope, no whistle
No charm, no psalm
No cross, no garlic
No holy water
Sprinkled sparkling drops
Banishes these memory hunters
These future eaters

Forgiveness is no kind savior
She does not offer herself for me
She will not still the horses
She will not feed the wolves
She will not carry my cross

She waits, crouching behind
One small flower growing
In the fork of one twisted tree
Almost out of reach
She waits
For me to stretch
Yawn, open my eyes
Rub away the sleep and tears
Stretch up and grasp
Her flowered home