Magnitude

The white horses have all disappeared

Thick calloused hands scratch my forehead

They try to sooth me to sleep as I cringe

Torn from acres of white horned owls

Thrown into sharp shattered windows

Tired and starving I wait in the watchtower

Touching diamonds of yesterday in my palm

There is a storm causing a witch to shift

Tell me where have the horses gone

Trembling I run to your memory

To find that it has slipped away to dust