I was the riderless horse

and you were the pale sunshine

that lasted until the end of November

wan and wanting

unable to overcome the shadows

you soldiered on

bravely marching on

until, like the rest of us

you gave in

to your rest

and to your due

the bitter rapprochement

of that bitter December

when all the world

bereaved

seemed enshrouded as

the pall of a cold northern town.

 

How does memory benumb

the horror of a little one

saluting his father who rides

on the caisson

under the flag and over the crape

Is this what dimmed your light

or was it the prospect ahead

distressing as it was

old adversaries lurking around corners

and in silos.

 

I walked on

riderless

through blue sighs

through your dusk

wandering amidst the gloom

apprehensive and knowing

a light would come once more

but I’d never see you again.

 

–Danny Grosso