This might be the case.

The echoes back,

the candles for illumination.


Thoughts wandering an hour ahead



happy in its silence

leading into nothing

but further silence.



All these years;

like a bottle a wine to open?

A cold emptiness.


Why this horse is not into line with the others?

Perhaps it's freezing out there with them.


The pause was an abstract not knowing what to do with that

which came out from the path.