Recurring Dream

In the deep gloom of sleep
I mounted my bay
And turned from the house
Where my body lay.
The fingernail moon
Lay near the horizon
So I tuned us east
And the soon-rising sun.

The intrusive chill
Of the November night
Cut to the bone
In the milky moon light.
I heard the rustle
Of fallen, dry leaves
Tossed from the trees
By small elfin thieves.

The chatter of creatures
At home in the dark
Mixed with owl's hoot
And a distant dog’s bark.
Steam from my bay’s nostrils
Rose upward like smoke
Frosting the night we wore
As a cloak.

I touched the bay’s sides
With the reel of my spur
Going from trot to a run
The trees becoming a blur.
We broke from the wood
To a wide, grassy plain
As the clouds gathered
And started to rain.

No clear destination
Was fixed in my mind.
I knew not what I wanted
Nor intended to find.
It seemed good enough
To my sleep-clouded soul
To permit my horse
Determine our goal.

A slow, autumn rain
Soaked us to the bone.
We were years from my bed
And utterly alone.
Where wends the traveler
The dreamer of dreams
Where runs the horse
Chasing strange schemes?

I awoke hours later
Damp with night sweat
Wrapped in my sheets
Disturbed with this debt
Of both what I wanted
And pretended to need
Dreaming I may find it
On the back of my steed.

I lay on my side
In the dull dawn of morning
Studying the dream
That nightly is forming.
I have no bay, nor bridle
No saddle, nor spur.
But I do have a pain
That dreaming won’t cure.

I long for the darkness
The chill autumn air
I yearn for the quest
And the hope of a prayer.
I ache for the gallop
On the back of the bay
And that intangible need
That will not go away.

Perhaps tonight, in my sleep
I will dream again.
My bay, in her stall
Will know where and when
To run through the forest
And into that field
Where I will end my search
And my treasure revealed.