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“Odin”
I have seen him, a mystical man
in a black robe who rides a stallion
past my window and into the sky. Oftentimes, I ask
myself who he may be, and what passions
lie within the cloak that motivate him on his
fervent moonlight trek. I grapple for
the zephyr of his wake, but then realise
he has slipped by before I grasp his cloak
and pull him towards me. Maybe his face will quench
my inquisitions, if consent from his features, only seen
as he passes by in a fraction of a second, will
reply and I will let him continue on his expedition.
I identify him as a valiant ninja who I have seen brandish a
sword at many who oppose his resolve, yet he swiftly
exceeds my window and my gaze for
destinations unknown to a casual
observer. I am not intrusive enough to warrant
his reserve, not worth acknowledgement by his blade.
And I watch this ghostlike man facing his destiny alone, at the
mercy of the moon, caring not for my expectations
as he persists in his quest for a constellation.
