Here at the turn of the leaf a horseman is riding
through the space between one world and another,
warm in his company of noises:
hoofs, hornsqueals, hound- and man-cries.
Trees shed their dry brown,
He's chasing a disturbance of the forest,
a shiver passing from twig to twig,
the whispery commotion
of a deer running
As he rides on alone, and his men
diminish to distant shouts,
his hounds' song mingles
with the song of a strange pack
hunting towards him.