Loosely jacketed against the frost bite
In the air, tight on the skin and in the strands
Of hair follicles. Beneath the swarming stars
On the dais of the earth, circling in the dark,
No light falling on them but only around them,
On a high prairie, chalk stone on the horizon,
They heard horses, jaunty, in the distance,
Though coming to that place finding no trace
That a herd ever had crossed it. And thinking the
Light from those stars may have carried them up
And borne them from the dark earth,
The electricity of night about them and
Walking through a myriad of different
They came at once to an ancient orchard
Where the fruit was of their own making.
Though it was cold, they stole like thieves
Loosed from a chain-gang and stumbling
Upon a treasure trove of different worlds
Ten thousand universes and futures ahead of them
And infinite possibility abounding like the swarming stars
There and always there for their choosing
Though until this night always just out of reach.
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