She travels so far.
With no star to follow, she threads the space between us.
But oh to hear the Sound! It welcomes us both again as old friends.
Looking out, it is quiet now, dark and deep and cold, with a grey memory.
But then every color bursts out of the morning, unexpectedly, like a parade down the corridors of an old library.
The miles behind us evaporate like illusions of water on the road.
We move as purposefully as blood rushing through the veins of their twin hearts.
And I am compelled to look ahead, for she tells me that the future belongs to us.
We are still. Proceeding.
An ever-green imagination in the middle of nowhere.
Until we wind up a precarious way.
Intruding upon three wise men.
Huddled together, they bear us gifts. And in the sand we light fire to our dreams.
Taken by the wind, two stars of royal beauty.
Now the miles call us back. So we mount our faithful stallion. Eastward leaning.
Please guide us to thy perfect light.